REaDy or Not, Here I Come
by Wandergirl108
Summary: Red John takes a stab at Jane that hits too close to home. Rated T for graphic/bloody content, violence, mild language, mild and/or brief suggestive themes, and a tiny hint of implied sexual sadism. Canon goes through S4E9, and also includes my adjacent fanfics. And this is just the first installment, of a tale portraying Red John as the embodiment of true evil…
1. Part 1: The Invitation in Blood

Lisbon was walking out of her office and down the hall to the elevators at the end of the day when she saw Jane walk into a room with a desk, carrying a case file box. She knew what was in the box, but she went over to talk to him.

"Hey," she said.

"Oh, hey, Lisbon," Jane replied in his usual manner.

She gestured to the box. "Red John?"

"Uh-huh."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "You're going to be staying up all night reviewing that thing, aren't you?" she asked resignedly.

"Yup," Jane said, turning back to the desk and setting the box down. "I figured maybe a change of location would help. I mean, I don't like my desk because it's out in the open, and my perch upstairs doesn't have much light."

Lisbon sighed. "There's nothing I can say to convince you to sleep tonight, is there?" she asked, still resigned.

"Nope," Jane answered.

She sighed again. "Well, good night," she said.

"Night, Lisbon," he replied.

She walked away, left HQ, got in her car, and drove home.

~o~

Half an hour later, Jane set aside one folder of papers that was in the case file box. He had looked through it thoroughly, as he would all of them. He still wasn't sure, after all these years, what he was looking for, but he hoped that one day he'd see something and be able to catch the monster who had ruined his life.

He reached into the box without looking, intending to grab whatever file found his hand next, when he felt something strange. He'd randomly stuck his hand into that box many, many times, but he had never felt _that_…It felt like…

Jane grabbed the strange thing and pulled it out. It was an envelope.

He started getting that crazed, furious feeling he got whenever Red John reared his ugly head. He looked at the envelope. On the front, it said,

_For Patrick_

After the word "Patrick", there was a smiley face with arched eyes, the right one closed, the left one open, and the top of the circle that made the head broken. Both the words and the drawing were in red ink.

Jane stared at it for a minute, _knowing_. He felt rage build in his chest, as it always did when Red John did something, and after a minute, he turned the envelope over and furiously pulled out the paper inside - the envelope wasn't sealed. _Of course it's not,_ he thought; _t__hat would take saliva, and saliva would mean DNA…_

Jane unfolded the paper with shaking hands and read it.

_Dear Old Friend,  
><em>_How are you? I would say that I hope you are doing well, but that would be a lie, and besides, the fact that you even found this letter means that you're still desperately digging through my case file every night, hoping against hope that you'll find something that will lead you to me. Sad…Very sad…  
><em>_As for myself, I have been very bored lately. After all, there are only so many women worth killing, and only so many ignorant fools worth recruiting to my cause. So, in my spare time, I've been watching you, Old Friend; and as I have watched you, it has occurred to me that there is a question you need to answer. I spent days deliberating the best way to ask you, as I rather suspect you wouldn't answer if I simply asked you outright. Then I thought, Why not make a game out of it? A game, such that, simply by playing, you will answer my question. It will be fun for everyone.  
><em>_What do you say, Old Friend? Will you play a game with me? I will be contacting you shortly to give you the details. For now, I leave you with my question, so that you may ponder it before we begin._

_Forever yours,_

_Red John_

_"Forever yours"…Damn right you are,_ Jane thought.

He re-read the letter.

_So what's the question?_ he wondered.

He turned the letter over. Blank. He held it up to the light - and saw that there were more words underneath.

Underneath?

The letter felt like it was just one piece of paper, but apparently, it wasn't. It took him a little while to separate the two pieces of paper, but at last, Jane saw the second page. There were only two lines of text on it, right in the center:

_My question, Old Friend, is this:_

_How much does Teresa Lisbon mean to you?_

Jane's brain took a moment to absorb the words. He touched the name on the page, almost as though he didn't believe it was real.

But it was.

"Lisbon…" he breathed.

His eyes widened.

"Oh, no," he said softly.

~o~

Just before Jane's hand found Red John's letter to him, Lisbon was parking her car in the parking garage near her apartment building. She turned the car off, got out, shut the door behind her, locked her car, and started walking toward the elevators, just like she did every night.

Halfway there, however, something stopped her.

"Te-_reee_-saaaaa," said a mocking, singsong voice. It was soft and dark, and it echoed so that it seemed like it was coming from everywhere.

She paused and furrowed her brow. _What the heck?_ she thought, confused. She looked around in front of her, and to her left and right. Seeing nothing, she turned all the way around, searching for…something - _anything_ - but there was no one there.

Just as she decided that she'd imagined the voice, someone came up behind her and put their hands on her upper arms - they didn't grab her, but the pressure was just enough to make her jump. As she jumped, the person - the man - bent down (he was tall) and whispered in her ear, "You look lovely this evening, My Dear."

She took a breath to calm down - her heart was pounding - and smiled despite herself; clearly, whoever this man was, he wasn't a threat.

"Let me go," she said.

"Hmm…" the man said mockingly. "Now why would I do something like that?"

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Because if you don't I'll make you."

"Is that so?" he asked her, his tone still irritatingly condescending.

Lisbon rolled her eyes again and, without responding, moved to pull herself out of his gentle grip.

In a flash, faster than she could blink, the man wrapped his right arm around her and, with his left hand, brought a knife to her throat.

"Now, now, we'll have none of that," the man said nastily.

A little skitter of fear ran through Lisbon's body. The knife the man was holding to her throat was slightly curved, so that it seemed to curl around her neck, and the man had moved alarmingly fast.

She forced herself to breathe.

"Let go of me," she said, managing to sound calm.

"No, I don't think I will, thanks," the man said mockingly.

But Lisbon refused to be intimidated. "Let me go, drop the knife, turn around, and walk away, and I won't come after you," she said calmly.

"My Dear, I'm holding a knife to your throat," the man said in a tone that suggested amusement; "you're in no position to negotiate."

"You have no idea what you're doing," Lisbon said.

"Hmm…" the man mused. "Are you saying that because you think I've never harmed another human being in my life, or because you think I don't know who you are…" His voice dropped to a menacing hiss. "_Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon_?"

Lisbon's brow furrowed again. "If you know I'm a cop, why are you attacking me?" she asked, confused.

"Well, why not?" the man answered nonchalantly. "Agents are people too, are they not? Just as capable of pain, and fear…" He smiled. "Just as…_mortal_."

"You get in a lot more trouble for attacking a cop," Lisbon said.

The man tilted his head. "Correct me if I'm wrong, My Dear, but I'll only get in trouble if I'm caught, yes?" he asked, his tone still suggesting that he was enjoying himself.

"You _will_ get caught," Lisbon said under her breath, slowly reaching for her gun.

The man smiled. "Really?" he whispered tauntingly.

Lisbon's hand was just about to reach her holster when it happened again: The man moved at frightening speed, sticking the handle of his knife in his mouth so it was still curved around her throat, putting his left arm around her to hold her in place, and, with his right hand, grabbing her gun and tossing it onto the pavement several yards in front of them. He did all this, then reassumed his former position, in less than a second.

Lisbon's breath started coming harder now, as fear started tightening her chest. Who the heck _was_ this guy?

The man said nothing for a minute.

"What do you want?" Lisbon asked, fearful.

"Entertainment," the man answered nonchalantly. "I've been very bored lately..." He leaned down to whisper maliciously in her ear, "and you can help me with that."

Lisbon couldn't speak.

The man's head started to move to take the handle of his knife in his mouth again, then stopped and said dangerously, "Oh, before we continue, I suppose it's only fair to warn you: This knife _is_ sharp enough, and I _am_ strong enough, that I can slash your throat open just by pulling back with my teeth."

Lisbon was silent, trying not to move a muscle, as the man very slowly put the handle of his knife back in his mouth, wrapped his now free left arm around her, and reached down to her belt with his right hand. For a moment, she thought he was going to undo her pants - what else could he have meant by "entertainment"? - but to her surprise, he instead took her handcuffs out of their holder on her belt. Then, he very slowly clasped one ring of the handcuffs around her right wrist, then took her left hand, brought it around her back, and clasped the other ring around her left wrist, so that her hands were cuffed behind her. The man then reassumed his previous position and put his mouth next to her ear.

"Now then, My Dear," he whispered, "you're going to come with me. The question is, will you come quietly, or will you put up a fight?"

Lisbon said nothing.

"Honestly, I don't care either way," the man said with a shrug after a minute. "We don't have all night, so if you come quietly, it'll be more convenient…but if you put up a fight, it'll be more fun." His voice had once again dropped to a menacing hiss. "Your choice, My Dear."

"My choice, huh?" Lisbon asked, fighting the fear that was choking her.

"Quite possibly the last choice you'll ever make," the man hissed nastily.

"Well then," she said, smiling nervously, "I guess it's not _much_ of a choice, is it?"

No sooner had she finished speaking than she clasped her hands together tightly and hammered his groin. When he convulsed, she rammed the back of her head into the front of his. As his head and chest went backward, she ducked out from under the knife and ran to where her gun had been thrown, falling to the ground. She quickly twisted her arms under herself so that her hands were in front of her. Then, she grabbed her gun, stood up, and turned around.

The man was lying on his back, groaning. She walked over to him cautiously, gun at the ready. He was completely dressed in black: black boots, black pants, black gloves, a long black coat with black buttons, a black hood, and a black cloth mask covering his face. She could also see that he was about six feet tall. Overall, he was a very menacing figure, even lying on the ground.

She approached him slowly, her gun up and ready to fire. He seemed to be-

Suddenly, as soon as she got too close to his legs, he wrapped them around hers and flipped her onto her back, hard. She heard something crack as her head hit the pavement, and prayed it wasn't her skull. In one swift motion, the man flipped himself over so that he was straddling her, knife in hand.

"Nice try, My Dear," he hissed. "Really. I didn't expect you to hammer me in the groin. Very impressive."

She panted, fighting to keep herself from passing out.

"I would drag this out longer, but as I said…" He reached into his coat and, to her horror, pulled out a hypodermic needle, full of a fluid she knew he was going to inject her with. "…we don't have all night," he finished softly. He tapped the needle with his knife and squirted out some of the liquid, whatever it was. He then switched his knife over to his left hand and turned the needle over in his right, ready to stab.

He tilted his head. "So…good night," he said, and quickly jabbed the needle into her jugular vein, pushing the injection out in one swift motion.

She fought to stay awake, but she didn't even last two seconds before everything went black.

~o~

He watched her eyes roll into the back of her head. She'd been stronger than he'd thought. He smiled as he mused how anyone other than him would not have been able to overpower her. Of course, he came prepared for any situation - her blows, though forceful, hadn't so much as bruised him, thanks to one of the many special features of his hunting costume.

Suddenly, a phone rang. It took him less than a second to realize it was hers. He searched her, found the phone, took it out, and looked at the caller ID.

Patrick Jane.

He smiled. Right on cue.

"Too little, too late, Old Friend," he whispered as he put his arms under Lisbon and lifted her up, carrying her away. "Too little, too late…"

~o~

When Lisbon's phone rang and rang, and then went to voicemail, Jane got a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't lose hope.

"Lisbon? Call me as soon as you get this!" he said urgently into the phone. "It's really important!"

He hung up.

Too anxious to wait, he called again.

It went directly to voicemail.

_No._ "Lisbon, call me, please! Now!" he exclaimed. "And why did you turn your phone off, damn it?"

Deep down, he knew he was too late - Lisbon _never_ turned her phone off.

But he couldn't let his mind go there.

~o~

He carried Teresa into the building he'd had made just for them. She was still out cold, and would be for another ten minutes.

He set her down in the corner of a room that was empty save for a chair off to one side. He took off her jacket, then her shoes, then her socks, and finally her belt. Now she was wearing only a black tank top and jeans.

_Much more comfortable,_ he thought.

He propped her up in the corner. Her head rolled around, her neck limp. Intentional, that. He'd given her a sedative that encouraged REM sleep. After all, she would need her rest…

He undid her handcuffs. Then, from one of the walls that composed the corner, he pulled a cuff attached to a chain that ran from the wall and clasped it around her right wrist; he then did the same to her left wrist with a shackle on the back wall. He smiled as the cuffs clicked into place.

_You're not going anywhere._

He took a moment to just look at her. She seemed so peaceful when she was asleep. Carefully, he raised his knife to her throat and lifted her chin with the blade, taking caution not to cut her, so that her face caught the light. She was pretty. Tough, too.

"O the cunning wiles that creep/ In thy little heart asleep!/ When thy little heart doth wake/ Then the dreadful night shall break," he recited softly. Then he laughed as he added, "Break...in the sense of all hell breaking loose." He smiled. "Are you dreaming, My Dear?" he asked the unconscious woman chained in front of him. "I hope so. I hope you're having pleasant dreams." Then he leaned forward and hissed evilly, "Because your waking world is about to turn into a nightmare!"

He laughed and stood up. He had eight minutes left before the sedative wore off - plenty of time. He left, but not before he stuck his knife into a slot in the wall, and as he walked, music started playing.

He went back up the hall in the small wood cabin they were in and went through a door leading to what served as his closet: There was a special dresser standing near the center, and a long table nearby. He put Teresa's clothes on the table, took off his hunting costume and put each piece in its special place, put on some plain clothes, grabbed his knife, and left, all in the space of two minutes.

He spent the last six catching up on his Old Friend's activities, and was very amused by what he saw. Then, he stood up from his seat and went back towards Lisbon.

_Time to have some fun._

~o~

The first thing Lisbon noticed when she woke up was that there was music playing.

It was classical, like Mozart or Beethoven. She thought she'd heard it before, but she couldn't remember exactly where…

The second thing she noticed was that she had a pounding headache. The pain seemed to originate at the back of her skull. _That's right, I hit my head,_ she remembered.

As the world slowly came into focus around her, the third thing she noticed was that she was alone, and that the room she was in was empty, save for a random chair off to the side. There was light streaming through some wooden beams above, but it couldn't have been sunlight because it was the middle of the night.

She did a mental checkup of her body. Whoever had taken her hadn't raped her, she quickly realized to her relief. Checking the rest of herself, she realized that apart from her head wound, whoever had taken her didn't seem to have done anything else to her at all.

She looked around, but she barely had time to absorb the fact that the entire place was made of wooden planks before she heard footsteps above the music. She looked up to see a tall man stroll in; the room she was in seemed to be open to a hallway down which he had come.

The first thing she noticed about him was his knife. It was several inches long, and the blade had a slight curve that ended in a barb coming off the back of the tip. It was actually kind of elegant, but in a deadly sense. She knew it was the knife he had held to her throat, and it certainly looked like it was made with the intention of killing people. What caught her attention was the fact that it was in constant motion, sometimes airborne, sometimes not; its owner tossed and twirled it around constantly, almost casually, the way one might fiddle with a piece of jewelry or squeeze a stress ball.

The man walked comfortably, nonchalantly, so at ease that he almost looked like he could have been whistling. Then, to her complete surprise, he stuck the knife into the wall next to him.

The musical piece that was playing finished, then stopped. Only then did he speak.

"Ah, you're awake, My Dear," he said. "Good. You will want to be awake for this."

"Where am I?" was the first thing that came out of Lisbon's mouth, to her eternal shame - she sounded like a victim, trapped and helpless, and she'd be damned if she let herself be that to him, whoever he was.

"A place without a name," the man replied dramatically.

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Truly, this place has no name," the man added, seeing her incredulity. "I had this place built specifically for us, and I never saw a point in naming it."

_Us._ Clearly, he was one of those psychos who were criminally obsessed with someone; in this case, her.

She tried to stand up, only to find her wrists being pulled back. She looked, and saw that she was chained to the wall. She turned back to him and raised her eyebrows again.

"Seriously?" she asked. "Shackles?"

He stalked toward her. "Well, I have to restrain you _somehow_," he replied with a shrug. "If I don't, it is quite likely that you will attempt to do me harm and/or escape, neither of which I find very desirable." He leaned against the wall so that he was right in front of her, casually tossing his knife around.

"Look, I don't know who you are, and I don't care," Lisbon said. "Just let me go before you make things worse for yourself."

The man laughed. His laugh was soft, dark, and…well, _evil_.

Lisbon refused to be intimidated.

"You're laugh is very spooky," she said condescendingly.

"Oh, why, thank you, My Dear, I'm glad you like it," the man replied, smiling. "I've been working on it for some time."

"Look, just let me go," Lisbon said, exasperated.

The man laughed again, harder.

She sighed. "Fine, I'll bite," she said resignedly; "what's so funny?"

"You," the man hissed. "You, _you_,_ YOU_! Oh…you have _no_ _idea_ how much _trouble_ you're in."

"How much trouble _I'm_ in?" Lisbon repeated, eyebrows raised again. "Right now, you're looking at assault of a state agent with a deadly weapon and abduction. Let me go now, and maybe we can cut a deal."

The man laughed again. "Look at you," he taunted. "You _actually think_ you're _negotiating_!" Another laugh.

Lisbon rolled her eyes.

"Then again, I suppose you have little reason to feel endangered here," the man said after he finished laughing, turning his attention to his knife. Then he started pacing, tossing his knife around as he did so, as he continued, "By now, you've done a thorough mental checkup of your body, so you are aware of the fact that, apart from the rather nasty bump on the head you got while trying to fight me off - which is more your fault than mine - you are completely unharmed." He paused and turned to her. "To you, this suggests hesitance. Weakness," he said softly. "You think I've never harmed another human being in my life."

"And am I wrong?" Lisbon asked mockingly.

The man smiled and leaned down toward her, and it was then that she noticed that something wasn't quite right with her eyesight. "Oh, My Dear," he purred, "you couldn't possibly be _more_ wrong."

Lisbon didn't blink.

"Consider this, if you don't believe me," he said, straightening: "If you were to be my first victim - of _whatever_ crime - why would I knowingly choose one of the best agents in the California Bureau of Investigation?"

"You tell me," Lisbon said with a shrug.

The man smiled slowly, then laughed again.

"Oh, My Dear," he said after he had finished laughing. "If only you knew who I was, your attitude would be _so different_ right now."

"So tell me, since you're obviously dying to," Lisbon replied coolly: "Who are you?"

The man smiled, and his smile, which was both mocking and condescending, was really starting to irritate her. "Are you sure you want to know?" he asked maliciously.

Lisbon rolled her eyes again. "Just tell me," she said, annoyed and not at all intimidated.

The man smiled again. "Very well, but for the record, you asked," he sneered.

Lisbon waited.

"I'm an old friend of a close friend of yours," the man said with a sinister smile.

There was silence for a minute.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" Lisbon asked, slowly and mockingly.

The man tilted his head. "Well, now, think about this for a moment, My Dear," he said: "Over the course of your life, there have only been three people whom you've considered to be close friends. One of them, you've spent the past fifteen years pretending they never existed-"

"How do you know-?" Lisbon began, startled.

"So from this point on, I will act likewise," the man said, raising his voice over hers. There was a pause. "So that means that you've only ever had two close friends," the man went on softly. "One is dead; the other is a coworker. Can you name them?"

Lisbon nodded.

The man raised his eyebrows.

"Sam Bosco and Patrick Jane," she answered.

"Very good," he said, smiling his evil smile.

There was silence for another minute.

"I'm sorry, I'm still drawing a blank," Lisbon finally said, shaking her head but smiling.

"Well then, let me give you another hint," the man said, smiling back.

"Please do," she replied mockingly.

The man smiled again, apparently unperturbed by her cynicism. "I'm an old friend of the close friend of yours," he said, "that I did _not_ have shot to death in his own office."

Lisbon's mind suddenly felt sluggish. His words took a minute for her to absorb.

"Shot to death in his own office…" she repeated slowly. "That…That's Sam!" She looked up at the man in shock. "Are you saying…_you_ had him killed?"

The man chuckled darkly and leaned against the wall. "I'll wait," he said.

Lisbon's mind was moving about a mile an hour, if that. Her brain, she later realized, was trying to protect her from the trauma that was coming. She had to think out loud to get anywhere.

"But…but if…if _you_…if…if it…if it was _you_ who…who had…Sam killed, then…that…that would…that would make…that-that would make _you_…" She gasped, her eyes wide.

"Say it," the man said malevolently. "Say my name. Say it out loud. Make it real." He stood up straight again, looking at her intensely as he waited for the moment of realization. "Go on, _say it_!" he hissed.

"R-R-Re," she stuttered, "R-Red John?"

The man grinned.

"At your service, My Dear!" he grinned, giving her a formal bow.

Then he threw back his head and laughed. Hard.

"Oh, no," Lisbon breathed, shock numbing her momentarily.

Unfortunately, that didn't last.

"Oh, god, no! _No_!" she cried, scrambling back against the wall, away from him.

Red John still laughed, the most chilling laugh she had ever heard. She looked at him, wide-eyed, panting with terror.

"W-What do you want?" she asked fearfully.

Red John's laughter died, but his smile didn't fade. "My Dear, you asked me that same question twenty minutes ago," he replied mockingly. "My answer then was the same as it is now: What I want, is _entertainment_. I've been _very_ bored lately…and you can help me with that."

_He's going to kill me._ She felt the knowledge flood her entire body. Crime scene photos flashed in her head: pools of blood, horribly mutilated bodies, and that evil smiley face drawn in gore.

Red John's smile widened. "Oh, not in the way you're thinking," he said in an evil hiss, "though it won't be long before you _wish_ it was. No," he said, standing up straight again; "I have _very special_ plans for you."

Lisbon recoiled in terror.

Red John smiled. "After all, you _are_ special," he said; "or, at least, My Old Friend thinks you are."

_Jane._ She was too terrified to speak, and she didn't know what she would have said even if she could, but she suddenly knew what was going to happen.

"So, now that introductions have been made," Red John continued, reaching into his pocket, "let's give him a call…shall we?"

He pulled out her cell phone.

She watched, frozen, as he turned it on - he must have turned it off earlier. "My, my," he said tauntingly, glancing at it, "fifty missed calls in the past twenty minutes, and all from My Old Friend." He looked at her. "He must be _very worried_ about you," he said softly.

"Does he know?" The question was out of her mouth without her willing it to be.

"I left him a note," Red John replied with a nasty smile, "and I have a feeling he got the message; but if not, he's about to."

He entered Jane's speed dial. She was too scared to wonder how he knew which number was her speed dial for Jane.

"I'll put him on speaker for you," Red John said. "I'm sure his voice would be very comforting for you right now."

"Why would you care?" she heard herself ask timidly.

Red John looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Did I say I cared?" he asked.

She couldn't answer.

He smiled, and pressed the call button.

_Ring…Ring…Click._

"Lisbon!" Jane's voice sounded over the phone, loud and frantic. "Oh, thank goodness, I've been trying to call you all night! Well, okay, not all night, but listen, I think-"

Red John laughed, and he was careful to use the exact same laugh he had used for Jane over another cell phone, at another time.

"Hello?" Jane asked, dread evident in his voice. "Who is this?"

"You don't recognize the sound of my laugh?" Red John asked, his voice dripping with mock indignation. He put a hand to his chest mockingly, even though Jane couldn't see the gesture. "Oh, Old Friend, I'm hurt."

"Who are you?" Jane asked, his voice lower and more serious now.

Red John chuckled. "Tiger, tiger, burning bright/," he recited, "In the forests of the night/ What immortal hand or eye/ Could frame thy fearful symmetry?"

Lisbon remembered how Jane had once told her that Red John had said those words to her the one time they'd met in person. Tonight, however, it sounded like a prompt, almost a question, though Lisbon couldn't imagine what Red John was asking.

There was silence over the phone for a minute. Then, Jane replied with a slightly shaky voice, "In what distant deeps or skies/ Burned the fire of thine eyes?/ On what wings dare he aspire?/ What the hand dare seize the fire?"

"And what shoulder, & what art/ Could twist the sinews of thy heart?/" Red John immediately picked up, "And when thy heart began to beat/ What dread hand? & what dread feet?"

"What the hammer, what the chain/ _In what furnace was thy brain?_/" Jane put special emphasis on the second line of the stanza. Red John smiled. "What the anvil, what dread grasp/ Dare its deadly terrors clasp?"

"When the stars threw down their spears/ And watered heaven with their tears,/ Did he smile his work to see?/ Did he who made the lamb make thee?" Red John replied, a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

"Tiger, tiger, burning bright/" Jane finished, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his own voice, "In the forests of the night/ What immortal hand or eye/ Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?"

Red John smiled. "Very good, Old Friend," he purred. "You've been studying. Tell me: How much time have you wasted reading and rereading and re-rereading that poem, searching for answers, hmm? How many sleepless nights have you spent reciting that poem to yourself over and over, wondering why, _why_, of all the things I could have said to you the first time we met, I would choose the first stanza of that poem?"

Jane didn't answer. Instead, he said, "Tell me who you are!"

"Oh, but Old Friend, you _know_ who I am," Red John replied, his tone light and mocking.

"You're Red John, admit it!" Jane snapped.

"With pride, Old Friend," Red John said calmly, making a gesture with his hand he knew Jane couldn't see; "with pride."

"What have you done to Lisbon?" Jane demanded.

"Lisbon, Lisbon…" Red John said pensively, as though trying to think of who that was, tapping his knife against his chin and clearly enjoying himself. "Do you mean, your long-suffering colleague and dear friend, Senior Agent _Teresa_ Lisbon?"

"Yes!" Jane snarled; Red John was pushing his buttons masterfully.

"Hmm…" Red John answered, obviously enjoying dragging it out while Jane was on the edge of losing it. "What makes you think I've done anything to her?" Red John asked with mock innocence after a moment.

"Uh, well, let's see, I read your letter," Jane answered, his tone sarcastic and angry.

"Oh, you can read?" Red John asked with mock surprise. "My, my, I'm almost impressed."

"Yeah, and I read in between the lines, too!" Jane shouted. Red John smiled at just how effectively he was goading Jane. "And then, of course, there's the _lovely_ detail of the fact that _you're calling me on HER GODDAMN CELL PHONE_!"

"Ah, yes," Red John said, smiling, "that."

"Yeah, _that_," Jane replied sarcastically. "So I'm only going to ask you one more time, and damn it, you'd better give me a straight answer: What have you done to Lisbon?"

"Hmm…Let me think…What _have_ I done to her?…" Red John pretended to wonder out loud. Jane's impatience and panic were almost audible over the line, and Red John was clearly enjoying every moment of it. "Let me see…" He ticked things off on his fingers "I surprised her in the parking garage near her apartment building, I held a knife to her throat, I chained her with her own handcuffs, I fought her when she tried to escape, I injected her with a sedative, I took her away to somewhere in the state of California, I shackled her in the corner of a nearly-empty room…and…I believe that's all," Red John finished with a shrug.

There was silence for a minute, as Jane waited for Red John to say something to the effect of, "Oh, and I killed her". Red John knew what Jane was waiting for, and after a minute, he chuckled evilly.

"Old Friend, apart from a rather nasty bump on the head she got while trying to fight me off - which, let's face it, really _is_ more her fault than mine - she is completely unharmed. In fact, she's right here, if you wish to speak to her," he said to Jane with a smile.

"Well, as it just so happens, I do!" Jane replied, very much wound up.

"Very well then," said Red John, and he held the phone over near Lisbon. "Here you are."

"Jane?" Lisbon said.

Jane was about to respond when Red John interrupted.

"Ah-ah-ah," Red John said over Jane, holding up a finger Jane couldn't see. Jane and Lisbon paused.

"Before we continue, I would like to say this: I _really_ don't like how you people call each other by your _last_ names," Red John said. "It's so professional, so…_impersonal_. I really don't like it. I would prefer it if you would call each other by your first names, even in conversation - at least, as long as I'm holding all the cards. Fair enough?"

Jane sighed. "Teresa, are you there?" he asked.

"Yeah," Lisbon replied, "I'm here."

"Are you okay?"

"Am I _okay_?" Lisbon exclaimed hysterically. "I'm chained up in the corner of an empty room with the most sadistic serial killer in the state - possibly even in state _history_ - and you're asking me if I'm _okay_?"

"Alright, alright, point taken!" Jane said hurriedly. "Has he done anything to you that he didn't mention a minute ago?"

"Apart from talking in riddles and doing his damned best to literally scare me to death?" Lisbon asked in response. "No." She looked up at Red John. "He hasn't done anything else to me yet."

"Excellent use of adverbs, My Dear," Red John crooned. "'Yet'. That _is_ the key word, isn't it?" He smiled and brought the phone back to his ear. "Satisfied, Old Friend?" he asked.

"Damn you, let her go!" Jane shouted.

"Hmm…" Red John pretended to think. "Why don't you try asking _nicely_?" he suggested after a minute. "You know, say 'please' and so on? And would you please call me by my name?

"I'd be happy to," Jane replied; "what _is_ your name?"

"My _preferred_ name," Red John hissed.

Static crackled over the line as Jane took a deep breath.

"Red John," he said at last, calmly and not aggressively, "please, let Teresa go."

There was a pause.

"Please," Jane plead, "please, just let her go! Please, I'm begging you, let her go! I'm the one you want, she doesn't have to be part of this! I'm begging you, please, please don't hurt her! Just let her go, please!" The desperation in his voice grew stronger with every word.

There was a pause; the tension in the air was almost tangible.

"My, my," Red John said mockingly at last, "you're already starting to answer my question, aren't you? It really does say a great deal about how much she means to you that you would bend your pride enough to _beg_, _me_, to _please_ do something for you…" He smiled evilly and hissed, "…even though you know there's no chance in the world that I would _ever_ comply."

"_Damn you_!" Jane shouted.

Red John laughed.

"What do you want?" Jane demanded.

Red John rolled his eyes. "Ugh, it's always the same question with you people, 'What do I want?', 'What do I want?'. What I _want_, Old Friend, as I have already communicated to both of you at least once, is _entertainment_. I've been _very_ bored recently, and I decided we would play a little game."

"What do you want _with Teresa_?" Jane revised.

"Ah, that's better," Red John said, smiling. "Nothing, really, not per se. What I want, I want from you; she is simply going to serve as the grand prize for whichever one of us wins the game."

"She's not a prize, she's a human being!" Jane shouted furiously.

Red John tilted his head, completely unruffled. "Perhaps you would feel better if I put it this way," he said: "Whichever one of us wins the game gets to decide whether the _lovely _Teresa Lisbon lives or dies. Better?"

"Jane-" Lisbon began.

"Names, My Dear!" Red John overrode her. "This is your first warning," he added, softly and dangerously.

There was silence for a moment.

"Now then, Old Friend," Red John said, "I believe there is something she wishes to say to you." He held out the phone toward Lisbon again.

Lisbon glanced hesitantly at the phone, then at Red John, then back at the phone again.

"Teresa?" Jane asked.

She took a deep breath. "Don't do it," she said.

"What?"

She swallowed. "Whatever it is he wants you to do. Don't do it."

"But I-!"

"Jane, it's not-"

"_Names__, My Dear_!" Red John yelled over both of them.

Then, to her complete terror, he took a step toward her, bent down, and lifted his knife to her throat.

She gasped as the tip of the blade broke her skin, but gritted her teeth and didn't make a sound as Red John traced a vertical line down the front of her neck. The cut was shallow - she'd had much worse - and she wasn't going to let Red John have the satisfaction of hearing her vocalize any pain.

"Consider that your second warning," he whispered malevolently when he was done.

"Teresa!" Jane shouted over the phone. "Damn you, you son of a bitch, what did you do to her?"

"Oh, I just gave her a little scratch on her throat, that's all," Red John said casually into the phone as he stood up. "It's barely bleeding by _your_ standards."

"Give her a break!" Jane yelled angrily. "Calling me by my last name is a force of habit for her!"

"One I'm trying to break as quickly as possible," Red John replied calmly. "Even lab rats can be taught to avoid actions that cause them pain."

"She's not a lab rat, _she's a human being_!"

"_Exactly_!" Red John said with a smile. "If a simple lab rat can be taught by such methods, then surely a human being can learn via the same methods much faster."

There was silence. Lisbon could almost hear Jane shaking.

"Now, then," Red John said at last, "I believe that there's something that _saint_ Teresa was trying to say to you." He held out the phone again.

"Teresa, it's okay, just call me Patrick," Jane said to her.

"Okay-"

"No, say it," Jane said.

Lisbon hesitated.

"Patrick," she said after a minute.

"Good, okay," Jane said, trying to sound calm, "now, what is it?"

"Don't do anything he tells you to," Lisbon said sternly. "It's not worth it."

"Teresa, if your life is at stake-"

"I'm dead already!" she said, cutting him off. "He's not going to let you save me. He's going to kill me no matter what you do."

"That is not true," Red John asserted.

"Patrick, I'm not blindfolded, and he's not wearing a mask - you know what that means!" Lisbon told Jane, raising her voice. Then she lowered it and said softly, "It means he doesn't care what I see. He's going to kill me." She shook her head. "There's no way he'd make that kind of mistake; he's too experienced. I've seen his face. I'm dead."

Red John chuckled evilly. "My Dear," he said, smiling, "while I appreciate that _you_ appreciate that I wouldn't make such an error…Really? Masks, and blindfolds? They're so crude, so…" He shook his head, as though looking for the right word. "…_common_," he finally finished distastefully. "I really don't like them. I try to avoid using them in the few instances I can afford to do so…and this happens to be one of those instances."

"What do you mean?" Lisbon asked.

Wordlessly, Red John crouched down so that he was almost at eye level with her.

"Tell me," he said instead of answering, "what do you see?"

"Huh?" Lisbon asked.

Red John tilted his head. "You claim I don't care what you see," he said. "So, what _do_ you see?" A malevolent hiss crept into his voice. "What color are my eyes?" he asked her. "What color is my hair? How dark is my skin? Am I tall? Short? Of average hight? Am I muscular? Flabby? Thin? What about my hair? Is it curly? Wavy? Straight? Dark? Light?" He smiled an evil smile. "Can you answer _any_ of these questions?"

Lisbon was silent, realizing, as he spoke, that no, she couldn't answer any of those questions.

"Come now, My Dear Little Saint," Red John taunted; "if I'm going to kill you no matter what, now is your chance to ensure you do not die in vain. Give My Old Friend something to go on…if you can. Can you?" His voice darkened wickedly. "Can you see…_anything_?"

"Well…no…" Lisbon stammered, "but…I-I got hit in the head pretty bad, and besides, the light's bad in here and-"

"My Dear, the sedative I gave you was mixed with a special chemical compound I designed myself specifically for this event," Red John said, overriding her. "It blocks the part of the brain that projects a mental image of one's surroundings - which is actually separate from the part of the brain that processes ocular input. To put it into words even My Old Friend can understand: You can sense that I'm in front of you; you can sense that I'm holding your own cell phone out to you; you can sense that I'm smiling; you can even sense that the light in this room is admittedly poor to the point of being cliché…" His smile widened. "…but you can't _see_ anything." He stood up and leaned back against the wall, still holding the phone out to Lisbon with one hand and twirling his knife around with the other. "Now tell me," he said condescendingly, "why would I go to all the trouble of making such a drug - which, I can assure you, was _not_ easy - if I was going to kill you no matter what My Old Friend did?"

Lisbon shook her head. "To give us false hope?" she suggested. "I don't know! I don't know why you do what you do!"

Red John smiled. "No you don't," he said softly. Then he chuckled and said, "My Dear, this is the second time tonight that a small flaw in your logic has led you to believe something entirely opposite the truth. Can you explain her error to her, Old Friend? You _are_ an idiot, but you do know _me_ - I'm sure _you've_ figured it out."

Jane sighed, ignoring Red John's not-so-oblique slight, and instead said to Lisbon, "He wants to see me fail to save you…and I can't fail if there's no chance to begin with that I can succeed."

"Well said, Old Friend," Red John commented. "This time, I really _am_ almost impressed." He brought the phone back to his ear. "Well, now that we've cleared that up, what do you say?" he asked Jane. "Will you play a game with me, with her life as the stakes?"

"What's the game?" Jane asked by way of answering.

Red John smiled. "Oh, I was thinking something simple, like…hide-and-go-seek?"

A child's game. Condescending. The message was clear to both Jane and Lisbon.

"Tell me the rules," Jane said, trying (and finally succeeding) to sound calm and confident.

Red John smiled again, and Lisbon knew that things were going exactly the way Red John wanted them to.

"Here's how this is going to work," Red John said to Jane: "Teresa and I are currently in a building somewhere in the state of California. So long as the game is still going, neither she nor I will leave this building. All you have to do is figure out where we are, then come here."

There was a pause.

"Why do I get the feeling that it's not that simple?" Jane asked, a bit of sarcasm lacing his voice.

Red John smiled again. "Perhaps because you know me well enough to know that it will not be nearly that simple," he answered nastily.

Jane was silent, afraid to hear the catch.

"Here's what happens if you agree to play," Red John said after a minute: "Upon your agreeing, I will cut her once now - and when I say 'cut', I don't mean give her a little scratch like I did two minutes ago," he added; "I mean _cut_, the way I do all my victims."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it!" Jane said impatiently (and more than slightly nervously).

"Yes, well, once now, upon your agreeing to play," Red John went on. "Then, for every sunrise she remains in my possession, I'll cut her once more. This will go on for…an indefinite length of time. The game ends if you win, or when I decide to end it, which I will do when one of several possible circumstances is met. If this game ends on my terms, I will do everything to her that I did to your lovely wife." He smiled his evil smile. "In the meantime, I will keep it so that she cannot see my face, and I will make sure she does not die of malnutrition, dehydration, infection, or prematurely of blood loss - or any other possibly fatal factor. In short, as long as the game is going, I will keep her alive and…as healthy as possible under the circumstances. If you find us before I decided to end it, you will win, and you will be able to save her from me. If not…Well…" He chuckled evilly. "Use your imagination," he hissed.

"How long do I have?" Jane asked.

Red John's smile was really starting to irritate Lisbon. "As I said, the length of time for which this will go on is indefinite. It could end in a month…" He shrugged. "It could end tomorrow." He paused, then added, "But, to make things more fair, how about I call you when I decide to end the game, and then do absolutely nothing to her until at least twenty-four hours after I make that call? Fair enough?"

"Fair enough," Jane replied, knowing that it was more than he ever could have hoped for.

"Good," Red John said.

"And what happens if I _don't_ agree to play your sick little game?" Jane asked, finally managing to sound strong.

Red John's evil smile widened. "Then I kill her now," he answered, his voice a sinister whisper as he raised his knife to Lisbon's throat and lifted her chin with the tip, forcing her to look up at him, "and _you_…will be forced to listen…to _every_…_single_…_horrific_…_moment_ of it."

While Red John had been talking, Lisbon's mind had kicked into high gear, and she quickly realized the purpose of what Red John was doing. So, as Lisbon felt the metal of the knife pressing against the underside of her chin, she found that she wasn't afraid.

"So?" Red John asked Jane. "What do you say?"

Before Jane had a chance to answer, Lisbon spoke.

"Don't do it," she said calmly.

"Oh, hold on a minute, Old Friend," Red John said; "I think _saint_ Teresa would like to give her input." He held the phone out to her.

"Teresa," Jane began, but Lisbon stopped him.

"Patrick, don't do it," she said.

"I can't just let you die!" Jane exclaimed.

"Yes you can, I'm ordering you to!" she commanded.

"Pardon me, My Dear, but since when does My Old Friend obey your orders?" Red John asked lightly.

"Shut up!" she snapped at him.

"No, Teresa," Jane said, "it kills me to admit it, but he has a point."

"Patrick, if you were ever going to follow one of the orders I've ever given you, let it be this one," Lisbon said firmly.

"It would have to be this one, since you won't be able to give any more if he doesn't," Red John commented.

"I said, _shut up_, you son of a bitch!" Lisbon snarled at him.

Red John raised his eyebrows. "You would really force him to listen to me kill you?" he asked her.

"I won't scream," Lisbon said to Jane softly. "I'll try my hardest not to make a sound, I promise. Patrick, please, don't do this," she pleaded. "It's not worth it." She looked up at Red John and raised her voice in defiance. "You know how this is going to go," she continued to Jane: "He's going to drag this out as long as he can to cause maximum suffering for both of us, and when neither of us can take it anymore, he'll kill me to finish us both off."

Red John shrugged and smiled, deliberately not denying her words.

"Teresa, if there's even a chance-"

"There is no chance!" she shouted at Jane. "You don't have a chance, you have _his_ definition of a chance! If you got in your car right now, drove to some random place in the state, knocked on the door, and found us here, you would win, and since that's remotely possible, that technically counts as a chance. Besides," she added, glaring at Red John, "do you really think he's just going to let me go, even if you do win? Do you really expect him to play by the rules?"

"Old Friend, I hereby give you my word that, so long as all of my rules are followed, I will follow all the rules I have described to you," Red John interjected. He paused, then added, "And something you should know, Old Friend: I _am_ one of my word."

"If nothing else," Jane said.

Red John smiled and didn't object.

"Do you really trust his word?" Lisbon demanded of Jane.

"I have to," he replied.

"No, you can't trust him, and you know it!" she told him firmly. "Don't do this!"

"Teresa, I _have_ to!" Jane repeated.

"No you don't!" she screamed at him.

Red John laughed.

"_Shut up_!" Lisbon snapped at him. Then, turning her attention back to the phone that was being held out in front of her, she said, "You don't have the right to decide whether I live or die." She looked back up at Red John. "Neither does Red John, but he doesn't care. Don't be like him. It's _my_ life that's on the line, not yours; let _me_ decide when it ends!"

"People rarely have a say in when they die," Red John pointed out.

She glared at him. "Out of the three of us, _I_ am the one who has the most right to say what I'm used for and when I will die, and I will _not_ be used as an instrument of torture!" she declared.

There was silence for a minute.

"Patrick, Red John has always gotten what he wanted - _always_, especially when he's wanted something from _you_," she said. "For once, don't let him get what he wants."

"If I don't do this, he'll kill you!" Jane exploded. "He'll still be getting what he wants!"

Lisbon shook her head and smiled in spite of herself. "No," she said. "You heard him. He doesn't want to kill me now. He wants to drag this thing out and torture both of us as much as possible. If you don't play along, yes, he'll kill me, but then it will be over, and he won't get what he really wants."

Red John tilted his head and shrugged, again deliberately not denying what Lisbon was saying.

"Patrick, please, don't do it," Lisbon begged him softly. "Don't play his game. If you respect or care about me at all, don't do this. It's okay. Just let me die, please. I want you to."

Red John's smile was slow and chilling as he raised the phone back to his ear. "Well," he said, "I think Saint Teresa has made her feelings perfectly clear in the matter; but the fact is, Old Friend, ultimately, it is _your _decision. What will it be?"

There was a tense silence, and Jane's internal struggle was almost audible.

"Patrick, don't do it!" Lisbon exclaimed, worried he wouldn't listen to her.

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Red John lifted his knife to her chin again and snapped, "That's enough out of you, Saint Teresa! You've made your feelings and desires perfectly clear, now let the man think for himself."

He paused.

"Oh, my - Old Friend, did I just call you a man?" Red John exclaimed with mock embarrassment, putting a hand to his chest. "Oh, I'm sorry, my mistake."

"If I'm not a man, then what am I?" Jane asked angrily.

"Pathetic," Red John replied readily.

"Oh, that's creative," Jane said sarcastically.

Red John smiled. "Creativity is overrated," he said; "what really matters is effectiveness."

"Damn you, you bastard," Jane said.

Red John smiled again. "Old Friend, I am many things, but I am not a bastard," he told Jane: "My parents were married to one another."

"Yeah?" challenged Jane. "For how long?"

"For as long as they lived," Red John replied, completely unruffled, "and, to my knowledge, happily so."

"Really?" Jane said sarcastically.

"Really," Red John replied, still smiling. "I would indulge you in more details, but the fact of the matter is that you're _stalling_, and we really don't have all night, so I'm not going to encourage you."

Another pause.

"What will it be, Old Friend?" Red John asked tauntingly.

"Aaaaa_aaaaaaaagh_!" Jane roared, nearly ripping his hair out, unable to choose. After everything Lisbon had said, how could he go through with it? But how could he _not_ go through with it? He couldn't let her die, too…

Red John laughed, enjoying every minute of Jane's self-torture.

Jane gritted his teeth, his hands fisted in his hair, his phone sitting on the desk. He paced, eyes screwed shut, unable to think. What was he supposed to do? What _could_ he do?

"Tell you what, Old Friend," Red John said after a minute, "how about this: I'm going to count down from ten. When I reach one, you give me your answer. If you do not answer, I will take it as a no, and she _dies_! Ready?" He paused, but not long enough for an answer. "Ten…nine…eight…seven…"

"Six," Jane said with Red John, "five…four…" Red John stopped, letting Jane finish the countdown. "Three," Jane said softly, "two…one…" He took a breath. "Ready or not, here I come."

"_No_!" Lisbon shouted.

"Excellent!" Red John exclaimed at the same time, grinning.

Jane exhaled.

"Well," said Red John, "since you've agreed…" In one quick motion, he slashed his knife through the air and into Lisbon's upper right arm, where it sank into the muscle more than an inch.

"_Aaah_!" she cried.

"Teresa!" Jane shouted.

Red John pulled out his knife and tilted his head.

"Disappointing," he said. "I thought you said you weren't going to scream."

"I wasn't…ready," Lisbon said through gritted teeth as she struggled to fight the pain, blood flowing down her arm from the wound.

"Ah," Red John responded. "Maybe next time, then?"

And he laughed. It was a cold, chilling, evil laugh that sent fear skittering through both Jane and Lisbon - the laugh of a monster who had its prey right where it wanted it.

He lifted the phone back to his ear.

"Well, Old Friend, that's all there is to say," he said nastily. "I'll be calling you at sunrise. Farewell for now."

"Wait!" Jane exclaimed.

"Yes?" Red John replied, rolling his eyes in feigned irritation.

"What do you mean, you'll call me at sunrise?" Jane asked.

"LIke I said, I'm going to cut her open again every sunrise," Red John answered.

"But what do you mean, you'll _call_ me?" Jane repeated, a bad feeling tightening his gut.

"Oh, did I forget to mention that part?" Red John asked mockingly. "I'm going to call you every time I cut her open."

"Why?" Jane asked, rage and pain building in his chest.

Red John's voice was an evil hiss as he said, "Because every time my knife sinks into her flesh, I want you to hear it."

"Every time?" Jane repeated, his mind going numb with anger, pain, hatred, fear, and so many other emotions he couldn't handle it.

"Yes, Old Friend," Red John replied in his snakelike voice, "including when I kill her."

"Damn you!" Jane shouted. "You said I'd only have to hear her die if I didn't agree to play!"

"I said you would have to listen to her die if you didn't agree to play," Red John corrected; "I never said anything about what would happen if you _did_ agree to play."

Jane growled furiously, clenching his teeth. Then, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and calmly said, "Give me a clue."

"I beg your pardon, Old Friend?" Red John replied, raising his eyebrows.

"Give me some sort of clue as to where you are," Jane said, his tone one of submissive pleading. "Something. Somewhere to start. Anything. Please."

"And why would I do something like that?" Red John asked mockingly.

"Look," Jane said calmly, sighing, "you and I both know what you do to me. I can't think straight. I lose…basically all my common sense, and most of the rest of my mind, too. This is going to be hard enough. But if I have to listen to my best friend scream in pain every twenty-four hours, knowing that if I don't do something I'll have to listen to her be brutally murdered…" He shook his head, fighting back tears. "I won't even be able to start," he said after a minute. "So please…please, Red John, give me something. _Anything_. _Please_." He took another breath. "Play fair."

Red John tilted his head and pretended to think about it. In reality, he had been planning on giving Jane something anyway, but he liked to make Jane nervous.

"Hmm…" he said slowly. "Well, you _did_ ask nicely…and I suppose it wasn't really fair of me not to mention that particular detail before you agreed to play…Hmm…" He paused another minute, knowing that each passing moment frayed Jane's nerves more and more. "Oh, very well," Red John said at last. "I won't give you a clue as to where I am, Old Friend, but I will tell you where to find one: The key to finding us is hidden somewhere in my case file. Which I have read, by the way, so I do know for a fact that it _is_ there, you have my word," he added.

"Thank you," Jane said sincerely.

Red John smiled. "You're quite welcome, My Foolish Old Friend," he replied.

"May I talk to her?" Jane asked. "Now? Please?"

Red John smiled again. "My, my, you're getting _very_ good at asking nicely," he commented mockingly. He paused. "Hmm…I don't see why not." He held the phone out to Lisbon again. "Here you are."

"Patrick-"

"Teresa, listen to me," Jane said, cutting her off. He waited a moment to make sure she was going to let him speak, then told her firmly, "I _will_ find you. I _will_ save you. You're not going to die, Teresa - I'm not going to let this happen to you."

"Everyone dies eventually," Red John pointed out.

"Shut up, you goddamn son of a bitch!" Jane snapped.

"Patrick, please-" Lisbon began.

"Teresa, you've had your turn to talk; now it's my turn," Jane said, "and I need you to listen to me. I _will_ save you."

Lisbon shook her head. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to.

"Teresa," Jane said, more softly now, "do you remember when we were investigating the murder of Kelly Flower, and I got you suspended, and I asked you to join me to bust the Drabers to get it nullified?"

"Patrick-"

"Teresa, do you remember-?"

"Yes!" Lisbon cried.

"Okay," said Jane. "Do you remember how I called out Annabelle's bluff, and we got locked in a box and shipped across the border, and you were scared, and you realized why I'd asked you to come?"

"Yes," Lisbon answered.

"Do you remember what I said to you?" Jane asked her.

"Remind me," she said weakly.

"I said, and I quote - I _quote_ - 'You know I'm always going to save you, Lisbon, whether you like it or not,'" Jane said, being careful to emphasize the fact that he was quoting something he had said a long time ago so that Red John wouldn't get mad at him for breaking a rule. "Do you remember that?"

Lisbon smiled, her single wound already taking its toll on her.

"Yes," she answered softly, "and I remember telling you that I didn't want you to save me."

"Well, that's the 'whether you like it or not' part," Jane replied, "and I _will_ save you, Teresa, I promise. You have _my_ word on that."

She smiled.

"I won't hold you to that," she said softly.

Jane sighed, exasperated, his emotions far past the overflow point. "Teresa, I swear to you on the graves of my wife and daughter that I will save you from Red John," he pledged.

Both Red John and Lisbon blinked with surprise.

"So just…hang in there, okay?" Jane begged. "Just hold on. I need you to believe in me. I _will_ find you." He paused, then told her softly, "And whatever you do, no matter how scared you might be, show him no fear. He likes fear; don't _you_ give him what he wants. As long as you have hope and you're not afraid, he won't kill you. So…wait for me, okay? Stay strong. I promise, I _will_ save you. You're not going to die like this."

Red John smiled and raised the phone back to his ear for the last time.

"You should know better than to make a promise you can't keep," he taunted.

"I can keep this one, and I will," Jane replied.

"Well, if you have any intention of proving yourself right about that, you'd better get started," Red John told him.

"Go to hell," Jane said bluntly,

Red John chuckled. "If such a place exits - which neither you nor I believe it does - then when my time comes, I probably will," he said nonchalantly. Then he smiled on last time. "Farewell for now, o foolish old friend of mine," he said, and he hung up.

There was silence. Red John looked at the cell phone he was holding.

"Oh," he whispered evilly to himself, "this is going to be _fun_." And he turned around and started walking away from Lisbon without another word.

"Wait a minute!" she called after him.

"Yes?" he asked, stopping and turning back to her.

"You…You're just going to leave me here?" she asked disbelievingly.

Red John's evil smile, she realized, was his default expression.

"Would you rather I kept you company?" he asked mockingly.

Lisbon was silent. No, that wasn't what she wanted, but she didn't want to be left alone, bleeding, in an empty room, either…

Red John took a step toward her.

"My advice to you is to get some sleep," he said; "you'll need it."

"_Sleep_?" she repeated incredulously. "You expect me to _sleep_?"

He tilted his head. "Oh, I'm sorry, are you in too much pain to sleep?" he taunted.

"Kinda, yeah," Lisbon answered.

Red John took another step toward her. "That's too bad," he hissed, "because it's only going to get worse from here. I advise you sleep now, while you're still in relatively little pain, because I can assure you that a week from now, you'll _wish_ you were in this much pain." His evil smile stretched as he added, "_If_ you're still alive."

He laughed and walked away. Just before he disappeared around the corner, he casually stuck his knife into the wall again, and the music Lisbon had first heard resumed.

Suddenly, she remembered where she had heard it before: An iPod had been playing it on speakers when they found one of Bosco's team dead in a room with Red John's smiley face painted over him in his blood.

Meanwhile, far away, Patrick Jane sat back down at his desk, took a breath in a futile attempt to calm himself, and started searching through the papers he knew by heart for the answer that would lead him to save his best friend.

…And, if he was lucky, kill Red John.

~o~

Grace Van Pelt walked into the office space that morning, the same as she did every day, and, to her surprise, found Wayne Rigsby and Kimball Cho at their desks, but no one else.

After the three exchanged "good morning"s, she asked, "Where are Lisbon and Jane?"

"We don't know," Cho said in his usual, expressionless manner.

Van Pelt looked between Rigsby and Cho, her eyes widening slightly, as she got a very bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. "You mean they haven't been here at all?" she asked, trying to contain her nervousness.

Both Rigsby and Cho answered affirmatively.

Van Pelt took a deep breath. "Any idea where they might be?" she asked them.

"Nope," Rigsby answered.

Van Pelt looked between the two men in disbelief. "Doesn't that bother either of you?" she asked them, confused by their apparent indifference.

"Bother us how?" asked Rigsby. "They'll be here."

Van Pelt shook her head; the more she thought about it, the more it felt like something was wrong.

"Lisbon's never late," she said.

"Yeah, well, Jane's always late," Cho said without looking up from his computer.

"But Lisbon's _never_ late," Van Pelt repeated.

"Well, she was late that one time," Rigsby pointed out. "You know, after the Walter Mashbourne thing?"

Van Pelt closed her eyes and tried to stay calm. "There's no reason for her to be late now," she said.

"What was her reason then?" asked Cho.

"You know…" Van Pelt said, gesturing with her head. "Him."

"Well, wherever Jane and Lisbon are, they're probably together," Rigsby said; "all we can do is wait for them to show up."

Something was wrong. Van Pelt knew it instinctively - something just wasn't right.

"Have either of you tried calling them?" Van Pelt asked, still standing.

Both men answered that no, they had not.

Van Pelt rolled her eyes, took out her phone, and dialed Lisbon's number. The call went straight to voicemail.

That feeling in her gut was suddenly twice as strong.

"Guys, Lisbon's cell phone is off," she told them.

"So?" asked Rigsby, shrugging.

"So, Lisbon _never_ turns her phone off!" Van Pelt exclaimed. "You know how she is - she's always open for getting called by Bertram or someone else she answers to, twenty-four/seven!"

"Maybe she just doesn't have cell phone service wherever she is," Rigsby said, shrugging again.

Getting irritated, Van Pelt dialed Jane's number. The phone rang, and rang, and eventually went to voicemail.

"Jane's phone is on, but he's not answering it," she told them. (Little did she know that her call had nearly given Jane a heart attack.)

"Huh," said Rigsby, not looking up from his computer.

"That's odd," Cho commented likewise.

Van Pelt gave an exasperated sigh. "Guys, I have a really bad feeling about this," she told them.

"What sort of bad feeling?" Rigsby asked, looking up at her with concern.

Van Pelt shook her head as she tried to find the words.

"I just…I just feel like…like something bad's happening, or is about to happen, or…I don't know!" she finally exclaimed, frustrated. "I just get the feeling that Jane and Lisbon not being here is something to be worried about." When neither of them said anything, she turned around and hurried away.

"Where are you going?" Rigsby called after her.

"To see if Jane's upstairs," she called back without slowing down.

Five minutes later, she was back.

"He's not upstairs," she panted.

Rigsby and Cho looked at each other.

"Well then, where could he be?" Rigsby asked, looking at both of them. "When we're not on a case, he's usually here or upstairs."

"Exactly!" Van Pelt said. "Something's not right!"

Rigsby and Cho looked at each other, then simultaneously stood up.

"Let's go talk to Bertram," Cho suggested. "If there's anyone who knows why they're not here, it's him."

Rigsby and Van Pelt nodded in agreement, and together, they went upstairs to Bertram's office. He was on the phone when they knocked, but he was able to finish his call a minute later.

"Come in," he said.

Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt walked into the room and up to his desk.

"What can I do for you?" Bertram asked, his normal air of haughtiness about him as usual.

"Sir, Jane and Lisbon are missing," Van Pelt said. "Do you have any idea where they might be?"

Bertram, who had been leaning back in his chair, suddenly leaned forward. "What do you mean, they're missing?" he asked, still calm.

The three looked at each other.

"Lisbon's…not in her office," Rigsby said, "and her phone is turned off."

"Which it never is," Van Pelt inserted.

"And Jane's not on his couch or upstairs, and he's not answering his phone," Cho finished.

Bertram's gaze shifted quickly between the three of them.

"I see," he said after a moment.

"Do you…Do you have any idea where they might be?" Van Pelt asked, knowing the answer.

"No," Bertram answered slowly, standing up, "but this _is_ a problem, and I thank you for alerting me to it."

"Maybe we could track Jane's phone," Rigsby suggested. "I mean, it's on, and it's within range of a cell tower, so we should be able to find him that way."

The four agreed, and a minute later, Rigsby, Cho, and Bertram were crowded around Van Pelt as she tracked the whereabouts of Jane's cell phone.

What came up couldn't have been more surprising to them.

"He's…_here_?" Rigsby asked, confused.

Van Pelt turned around in her seat and faced the others.

"Guys, I have a _really_ bad feeling about this," she told them.

"Well he's not here, and he's not in his room upstairs," Cho said.

"So where is he?" asked Bertram.

No one had an answer.

"I guess we'll just have to…look around," Van Pelt said slowly after a minute.

"You okay?" Rigsby asked, noting her expression.

"I just…I have a really, really bad feeling," she said.

"Bad how?" asked Bertram, though it was more like a demand.

"I don't know," Van Pelt said. "I just feel like…I don't know…like something's wrong."

"Well, we won't find out one way or another just standing around here," Bertram said, taking on his "commander" voice. "Let's start looking around. There are only so many places he could be, and I would very much like to find out what the hell he thinks he's doing not answering his phone and hiding like this."

They agreed not to split up, as Bertram wanted to be there when they found Jane, he and didn't want to run the risk of someone else finding him first. Van Pelt led the charge, oddly enough. She didn't say anything to the others, but she could only think of one reason why Jane would ever act exceptionally unusually: Red John. If Red John had done something, and Lisbon was missing…well, at best, Jane and Lisbon were trying to work on something together…

And at worst…

"Excuse me," she said for what felt like the millionth time to someone passing by, "have you seen Patrick Jane?"

"Oh, yeah, he's over there." The man pointed to an unassigned office. Sure enough, there was Jane, sitting at the desk, his back to the door, looking through some papers.

"Thank you," Van Pelt said to the man with a smile, even though she thought she was going to be sick. Lisbon wasn't there…

The man acknowledged her thanks and continued on his way. She turned back to the others.

There was a pause. Then, Bertram started walking purposefully toward the office Jane was in.

"Director Bertram, sir, please, wait a minute!" Van Pelt said.

"What?" Bertram asked, turning around.

She swallowed. "Let's think about this," she said quietly. "There has to be some reason why Jane's been hiding in there all this time."

"Of course there is," Bertram said, "those papers he's going through are Red John's case file."

"How do you know that?" asked Rigsby.

"The box on the desk," Bertram answered, pointing. Sure enough, the Red John case file box sat on the desk with the papers Jane was going through. "Obviously, he started working some more on the case last night and lost track of time."

"Director Bertram, sir, no offense, but I don't think it's very likely that that would happen on the exact same day Lisbon didn't show up for work by pure coincidence," Van Pelt said.

"Well, whatever the case may be, we won't know until we ask him," Bertram pointed out, and with that, he turned back around and resumed striding toward Jane. After a brief moment, the others followed him.

~o~

Jane was so immersed in the papers in front of him that he wasn't even startled by the sound of the door opening behind him.

"Go away, please," he said instantly.

"Jane, there you are," Bertram said.

"Yes, here I am, now go away, please," Jane said without turning around.

But Bertram didn't. Instead, the rest of the team came in with him.

_Of course._

"Jane?" Van Pelt asked, and even through his hyper-focused state, he could hear a trace of worry in her voice, though he didn't waste any energy wondering about it.

"I said, _go away, please_!" he repeated instead. Damn it…He didn't have time to waste dealing with them…

"Jane-"

"I'm busy, _now GO AWAY_!" Jane shouted without looking back at any of them.

"Jane, what's going on?" Van Pelt asked, a note of panic in her voice that he only barely took the energy to notice.

"Can't explain, very busy, now _go the hell AWAY_!" Jane yelled, still paging through one of the piles of paper in front of him.

The other four looked at each other.

"Where's Lisbon?" Cho asked.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out, _now GO AWAY_!"

"Why would looking through Red John's case file help you find Agent Lisbon?" Bertram asked.

Jane sighed. "He took her." He said it softly; saying it aloud made it more real, and the words hurt on the way out.

"What?" Van Pelt asked.

Jane furiously threw down the papers in his hands, stood up, whirled around to face them, and shouted, "_Red John took Teresa_!"

They stared at him, stunned. He took a moment or two to catch his breath - he was panting with fury. Then he said to them, "He took her, and I'm the only one who can save her, so unless any of you want her to die, _go away_!" He turned back around and sat down again, picking up the papers he'd been looking at, struggling not to cry with anger and exhaustion. He hadn't slept - he'd spent all night searching through the file, trying to find the answer. Sunrise, when Red John had forced him to listen to Lisbon being cut open again, had been pure hell on his already strained consciousness, and he was on the verge of completely losing it.

For a moment, the others were too shocked to speak. Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt looked at each other, wide-eyed, while Bertram's face was expressionless. Then, suddenly, everyone spoke at once.

"Are you sure?" asked Rigsby.

"Why would Red John take Lisbon?" asked Cho.

"What makes you think she's alive?" asked Van Pelt.

"Why didn't you report this?" demanded Bertram.

Jane sighed.

"Here," he said, holding out the envelope from Red John, in which he'd re-enclosed the letter, to the group behind him. "Take this _very informative_ letter. It should answer all your questions. And leave me alone!"

Gingerly, Van Pelt took the letter from Jane and opened it. She slowly took out the letter, unfolded it, and, after hesitating a moment, began reading.

"'Dear Old Friend,'" she read. "'How are you? I would say that I hope you are doing well, but that would be a lie, and besides, the fact that you even _found_ this letter means that you're still desperately digging through my case file every night, hoping against hope that you'll find something that will lead you to me. Sad...Very sad...'"

At this, Jane rolled his eyes without turning around and muttered, "Oh, for crying out loud, why can't you just let it go?"

Van Pelt took a breath, trying to steady herself, then continued, "'As for myself, I've been _very_ bored lately. After all, there are only so many women worth killing, and only so many ignorant fools worth recruiting to my cause. So, in my spare time, I've been watching _you_, Old Friend; and as I have watched you, it has occurred to me that there is a question you need to answer. I spent days deliberating the best way to ask you, as I rather suspect you wouldn't answer if I simply asked you outright. Then I thought, Why not make a game out of it? A game, such that, simply by playing, you will answer my question. It will be fun for everyone.

"'What do you say, Old Friend? Will you play a game with me? I will be contacting you shortly to give you the details. For now, I leave you with my question, so that you may ponder it before we begin. Forever yours,'" She looked up at Jane's turned back. "'Red John.'"

"Damn right you are," Jane muttered.

There was silence except for the rustling of papers as Jane set one pile aside and started going back through another.

"So…what's the question?" Rigsby asked after a minute.

"Second page," Jane grunted by way of response.

The group of four exchanged looks, and Van Pelt tried the letter to see if there was a second page. Dislodging it from the first, she switched the pages so the bottom one was on top.

"'My question, Old Friend, is this,'" she read. "'How much-" She stopped. "Oh, god," she breathed.

"What?" asked Rigsby, taking the letter from her. Then he looked at it and said, "Oh. Oh my god."

"What?" asked Bertram.

Wordlessly, Van Pelt took back the letter and showed it to Cho.

"Oh, no," he said, and a trace of fear leaked into his voice.

"_What_?" demanded Bertram.

Van Pelt glanced at him, took a breath, and read softly, "'How much does Teresa Lisbon mean to you?'"

Bertram blinked, taking this in.

"So, let me see if I've got this straight," he said after a moment, turning to Jane: "Red John, arguably the most sadistic serial killer in the history of the state of California - possibly even in the history of the entire _country_ - has abducted one of my best agents because of _you_?"

Jane closed his eyes, taking the blow silently; and it was a very, _very_ painful blow to hear it said out loud.

"Yes," he answered softly.

Van Pelt turned to Bertram, opening her mouth to object to the idea of blaming Jane, when she remembered that he was the director and beyond reproach.

"Sir, it's not Jane's fault that a serial killer is on the loose," she said instead.

"But it _is_ his fault that that serial killer has come after _my_ people!" Bertram responded.

"You can all feel free to argue whose fault it is if you _go away_!" groaned Jane, exasperated.

"Why the hell didn't you report this?" Bertram demanded.

"He doesn't want anyone involved but me," Jane answered. "This is between me and him, and anyone else getting involved puts her at risk."

"The hell it does!" said Bertram angrily. "He comes after my agent, he comes after me - I'll be damned if I just let you handle it without any sort of backup!"

Jane suddenly got a very bad feeling. He stood up abruptly and turned on the four people behind him.

"You can't get involved!" he exclaimed wildly. "If anyone but me tries to get in on this-"

"Agent Lisbon is _my_ responsibility," Bertram declared, "and if Red John thinks he can take her without the entire Bureau coming after him for it, he's got something else coming!"

"No!" Jane cried, almost delirious, shoving his way through them to block the door. "You can't get involved! He'll kill her!"

"He'll kill her anyway!" Bertram argued.

"Not if I play his game alone, he won't!" Jane replied adamantly.

"Jane, we're not just going to sit back and let Red John kill Lisbon," said Rigsby.

"If she's even still alive," Cho added.

"She's alive," Jane told them.

"And how do you know that?" asked Bertram incredulously.

Jane took a moment to make eye contact with each one of them. "Because I've spoken to her," he answered. "I've spoken to her, and I've spoken to him, and I've heard her scream as he cut her open." His face was granite, his tone grave as death, as he said, "I will not let those screams turn into the screams of a dying woman, but if any of you try to get involved, that's exactly what they'll be." He paused again to let what he was saying sink in. "So don't any of you dare try to get involved," he finished.

Bertram shook his head stubbornly. "We don't play games with killers, and we _certainly_ don't let them call the shots, _ever_," he said sternly. "He wants to play a game? He plays with _all _of us, and he plays by _our_ rules."

"No!" Jane cried frantically. "If you do something he doesn't want you to-"

"I will not take orders from a psycho serial killer!" snarled Bertram, trying to shove Jane aside.

"You _have_ to!" Jane exclaimed. "Look, just wait until sunrise, okay? He'll call then, and then I'll ask him what he does and doesn't want you all to do, okay?"

"Jane…it was sunrise two hours ago," said Van Pelt softly.

Jane nodded. "Yes, it was," he replied; "and tonight, the sun is going to set again, and tomorrow morning, it's going to rise again. When it rises again tomorrow, if he still has her, then I'll ask him what you are allowed to do; until then, you can't get involved, unless you want her to die."

"Get out of my way!" commanded Bertram. "That's an order!"

"I can't follow orders that will get Teresa killed," Jane replied firmly, and he actually grabbed hold of the door frame to keep the others from leaving, praying that he wouldn't have to hold them off like this for the full twenty-some hours between then and the next sunrise.

~o~

The pain in Lisbon's arm had subsided to a dull throb, which was, if nothing else, bearable. At sunrise, Red John had added a cut to the front of her left shoulder, and the pain from that wound was just beginning to dull as well. That damn music kept playing, over and over, and it contrasted so sharply with her situation that it made the whole thing feel even more horrifying.

_Red John is going to kill me._ This thought had been the only one that had been clear to her throughout the night. It had scared her at first, but now, she just felt…_numb_. What was the point in being scared? There was nothing she or anyone else could do to change the fact that she was going to die a horrible, painful death. It was simply a fact, and one she had come to accept after a long time of considering it.

Her biggest worry was what her death would do to Jane. He'd told her he'd had a breakdown after Red John had murdered his family, and while she knew she didn't mean nearly as much to him as his wife and daughter did, she also knew that, ever since the day Red John had taken everything from him, she had been his family, more or less - her and the rest of the team. Red John had made it clear that he had taken her because Jane cared about her, and she knew Jane would blame himself for it. The fact that, on top of everything else, he would have to listen to it, too…She didn't even want to think about what that would do to him. She didn't care that she was going to die, not really; what she hated about her situation was that she was being used to torture Jane…

Suddenly, she registered that footsteps were sounding over the music, getting closer. _Here we go,_ she thought.

Red John strolled in, just as the final strains of the piano music were playing, and as the piece ended, he stuck his knife in the wall, the same as he always did, and the music stopped.

"How are you, My Dear?" he asked her mockingly, tilting his head.

She glared at him, unable to think of an adequate response through the haze of pain that filled her mind. Instead, she heard herself ask, "Is it time already?"

Red John chuckled evilly. "No, My Dear, you've plenty of time still."

"Then why are you here?" she asked weakly, wishing she could force herself to sound stronger.

"I gave my Old Friend my word that I would keep you alive," Red John answered, "and so I am going to hold to it."

Lisbon thought for a moment. "I'm not eating or drinking anything you give me," she told him.

Red John smiled chillingly, and Lisbon was able to spare a bit of brain space to marvel at how she was able to sense the movement even though she couldn't see.

"I know," he said casually, stalking toward her. Then, he pulled out a needle. "Which is why we're going to skip that entirely," he added, kneeling down right in front of her.

She recoiled into the corner, shrinking away from him.

"Give me your arm," he said to her softly.

She deliberately bent her elbows, and she twisted her head and shoulders to protect her neck for good measure.

"My Dear, what do you think I'm going to do to you?" Red John asked her, a hint of laughter lacing his voice. "When I kill you, I'll be using this knife." He held up his ever-present knife for good measure. "What exactly are you so afraid I'm going to inject you with?"

_When_ I kill you. His choice of words was not lost on her.

"What are you going to give me?" Lisbon asked, trying not to sound afraid. She _wasn't_ afraid, but that didn't mean she was going to just let Red John inject her with whatever he felt giving her.

Red John shrugged. "This one's mostly saline, to keep you hydrated, with all the nutrients you need to survive mixed in." He reached out to take her left arm. She pulled back. "My Dear, give me your arm, or I'll make you," he hissed dangerously.

"Why don't you just make me, then?" she asked him, trying to sound defiant and succeeding.

"I don't want to break you too quickly," he answered. "I want to let you have the illusion of having some control over what's happening to you…for now. In other words, I'm being polite," he added mockingly.

Lisbon glared at him, but, recognizing that she was only hurting herself by refusing, she unbent her left arm so that he could get at her vein.

He smiled, then wordlessly jabbed the needle he was holding into the crook of her elbow. She didn't bother to question how he didn't miss her vein. He finished, pulled the needle out, capped it, and put it away (somewhere - she couldn't tell where it went).

Then he pulled out another one.

"What's that?" she asked, drawing back again.

"Again, mostly saline," he answered. "This one is also mixed with chemicals to keep you alive - just not nutrients."

"Like?" Lisbon asked, not moving.

Red John shrugged. "Marrow stimulants so your blood supply will replenish faster, coagulating factors so you don't bleed out so quickly, vision blockers so you still can't see my face-" He broke off. "'Vision blockers,'" he repeated softly, almost to himself. "Huh. It seems I just named it."

Lisbon raised her eyebrows. "'Vision blockers?'" she repeated incredulously. "Is that really the best you can come up with."

"I doubt it," Red John replied, shrugging again. "If I put much effort into it, I'm sure I could come up with a much better one. I just don't see why I should waste my time and energy on it." He tilted his head. "Names are a convenience, My Dear, not a necessity."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said.

Red John smiled, as though her cynicism amused him. "Also in here is another drug I designed myself," he continued. "This one will make it so that the pain you are in doesn't physically or mentally impair you. Oh, it won't _lessen_ the pain," he added, seeing her expression; "it will simply make it so that you can think and speak through it coherently, among other things. This is important, because there's something I want to ask you."

Lisbon looked at him for a minute, then wordlessly held her arm out again. Likewise, he said nothing as he gave her the second injection. Afterward, he capped the needle and put it away, same as the first. Then, he stood up, pulled the chair over, and sat down in it, so that he was sitting directly in front of her.

"Tell me when it takes effect," he told her, and he resumed twirling his knife absentmindedly.

For a moment, Lisbon felt nothing. Then-

"Oh!" she exclaimed as a strange sensation flooded through her: The pain certainly didn't lessen, but her mind was suddenly clear. She blinked, then looked up at Red John, her brow furrowed. "That feels really weird," she said.

"It should," Red John said, smiling. "Now then…" He leaned forward. "I was wondering if you could explain something to me."

"What?" Lisbon asked coolly.

"Why aren't you afraid?" Red John asked her.

Lisbon looked at him but said nothing; her mind was racing, and she was starting to get an idea, if she could just have another minute to figure it out…

"Why aren't you afraid?" Red John repeated, leaning back casually in his chair. "When you first found out who I was, you were afraid - you were utterly terrified. But now…" He tilted his head. "I know my Old Friend told you to not show me any fear, but you're not just _hiding_ your fear, you really don't feel any. Why is that?"

_Got it._

"Well, what am I supposed to be afraid of?" she asked him sarcastically. "You?"

Red John blinked, as if confused by her reply. "All sane beings fear death," he replied after a moment.

"Is that what you think you are?" Lisbon deliberately made her tone as mocking and condescending as possible. "Well, 'Death be not proud, though some say thou should be!'" She smiled at being able to quote poetry at him. _Perfect,_ she thought.

Red John said nothing, but his knife stopped spinning around, and he looked at her with what appeared to be disbelief (from what she could tell through the vision blockers), so she knew she was on the right track.

"Seriously, though, am I supposed to be afraid of you?" she asked him mockingly. "Ha! You're nothing but an ugly, tormented little man, a lonely soul…And sad…very sad…" She smiled, knowing that quoting Jane would really get under his skin. "Just like _Jane_-" she emphasized the fact that she was calling Jane by his last name "-said you were, all those years ago." She tilted her head, as though realizing something, as she suddenly got another idea for how to make Red John mad. "And that's why you killed his family, isn't it?" she asked him tauntingly. "It wasn't because he slandered you; it was because he was telling a painful truth that you just couldn't stand to hear." She laughed, and she knew the sound wasn't pretty. "Well, you can rage and rampage and kill all you want to, but that doesn't change what you are," she finished, her voice dripping with mockery: "You're pathetic. You're nothing." She smiled. "And I'm not afraid of you."

Red John was shaking with rage - she could see the way his knife vibrated in the air, clenched in his hand. His eyes were closed, both his hands were balled into tight fists, and his jaw was clenched so tightly she could actually sense the muscles in his face twitching as he exerted every ounce of self-control he had. Slowly, very slowly, as though he was afraid that he would snap if he even allowed himself to move too fast, he stood up, his expression unchanging. He didn't say anything, and Lisbon knew she was close.

"What's the matter?" she taunted. "Tiger got your tongue?"

Red John bared his teeth, but he still somehow managed not to snap. Lisbon didn't have any more ideas, so she decided to let things take their course.

Slowly, very slowly, Red John switched his knife from his right hand to his left, and then, very, very slowly, he reached into his right pocket, took out Lisbon's phone, turned it on, called Jane on speed dial, and lifted the phone to his ear, all with as little movement as possible.

~o~

"No, you can't-!"

Jane was cut off by the sound of his cell phone ringing on the table.

He froze, staring at the phone in horror. Rigsby, Cho, Van Pelt, and Bertram all sensed that the phone ringing was a very bad sign, and none of them moved or spoke as Jane, terrified, walked over to his phone and checked the caller ID.

Lisbon.

Jane turned on the others.

"See what you've done!" he exclaimed at them.

"What's-?" Van Pelt began.

"It's him!" Jane shouted furiously. He glared at them. "I'll put him on speaker so you can all hear exactly what you've done!" he snarled, and he picked up the phone.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Good morning, Old Friend," came Red John's voice over the phone, and the sound was chilling for everyone who was listening - Red John was speaking very slowly, through gritted teeth, as though nearly bursting with fury. Without waiting for Jane to ask, he said, still slowly, still through gritted teeth, "I'm calling…because it would seem…that you have taught Saint Teresa…both too much…and too little…for her own good." He paused, taking a breath, as though trying to calm himself. "You've taught her…_very well_…how to insult me," he hissed dangerously; "however…you somehow _failed_ to teach her…that doing so…is a _very_…_bad_…_idea_." Another pause. Rigsby, Cho, Van Pelt, Bertram, and Jane all waited with dread for whatever Red John was going to say next.

"…And now it's going to cost both of you!" Red John roared, his voice that of fury itself.

~o~

No sooner had Red John finished speaking into the phone than he flew at Lisbon, tossed the phone down right next to her, grabbed her, flipped his knife over and backward into his right hand so that the blade curved away from her, and brought it down, hard, on her right shoulder. Even though the blade was curving away from her, the force with which he swung it drove it more than two inches into her flesh.

Lisbon cried out involuntarily.

"Teresa!" came Jane's voice over the line.

The tip of the blade had a barb that jutted out the back, and now Red John pulled his blade through Lisbon's shoulder, slowly, causing the barb to scrape at the bone that kept the blade from going deeper. He wasn't sawing through bone, the barb was viciously ripping bone fibers apart, and Red John pulled the blade down hard, causing the ripping to go through her shoulder blade and collar bone, tearing the latter nearly in half. Lisbon screamed, and screamed; she couldn't help it - the agony was unbearable.

"Teresa!" Jane shouted again, fearing the worst.

Red John's roar of exertion and fury as he slashed through flesh and bone wasn't even audible over Lisbon's screams, until finally he cut all the way through, and with a final slash through the air that sprayed blood everywhere as the blade came free of Lisbon's body, Red John, panting, released Lisbon, picked up the phone again, and stood up.

"That's…it?" Lisbon managed to gasp, surprised.

"You son of a bitch!" Jane snarled over the phone. "You broke your word!"

"When?" Red John demanded. "In what way have I broken my word?"

"You said you'd only cut her once every sunrise!" Jane shouted.

Red John laughed his chilling, evil laugh, completely composed once more. "I said I'd cut her once every sunrise," he said, his tone taunting and mocking as usual; "I never said anything about _between_ sunrises."

"You...!" Jane was furious - and frightened - beyond words. "What did she say to you? You know what?" Jane quickly changed his mind. "Never mind. Let me talk to her. Please. I promise, whatever she said, whatever she did, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again. Please, just let me talk to her."

Red John smiled. "Very well," he said, and he held out the phone to Lisbon. "Here you are."

"Alone," Jane said. "Please."

Red John was silent for a moment.

"Please," Jane begged. "Please, let me talk to her alone. Just…Just give her the phone and leave the room. _Please_."

Red John thought for a moment. "Very well," he finally said, and he set the phone down in front of Lisbon and started walking away.

"Teresa, tell me when he's gone," Jane said.

Lisbon watched until Red John was out of sight. "He's gone."

"Teresa, what happened?" Jane asked frantically. "What did you say to him?"

Lisbon smiled weakly. "The same thing you did," she answered. "Plus a…few additions of my own."

"Teresa…" For a moment, Jane was too stunned to speak. Then, "Why would you _do_ that?" he demanded.

"Because I don't want you to play this stupid game!" Lisbon shouted.

There was silence for a moment.

"I thought that maybe, if I made him mad enough, he'd just snap and kill me," Lisbon continued finally. "I thought maybe he wouldn't even bother to call you and you wouldn't have to listen."

"Teresa…" Jane was at a loss for words. "You don't have to die," he said finally.

"Patrick-"

"Teresa, _listen to me_," Jane cut her off, his voice coming stronger now. "I _will_ save you, alright? I swore I would, and I will." He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I need you to believe in me," he continued after a moment, his voice softer, "and I need you to wait for me. Please, Teresa, I need you to promise me you won't try to make him mad again. This is hard enough without me having to worry about you doing or saying something and getting yourself killed."

Lisbon laughed in spite of herself.

"What?" Jane asked, confused.

"Am I the only one who can appreciate the irony of what you just said?" Lisbon asked by way of answering, still smiling. "Usually, _I'm_ the one who worries about _you_ doing or saying something stupid and getting yourself killed."

"Teresa, I highly doubt that anything I have ever done has ever come even close to worrying you as much as you're worrying me right now, and if I'm wrong, _I am SO SORRY_!" Jane told her, a note of panic creeping into his voice. "Just _please_, promise me you won't try to end this thing on your terms again."

Lisbon sighed. "Okay, fine," she said.

"Okay, fine, what?"

"I promise."

"Promise what?"

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "I promise that I won't try to piss Red John off, or do anything else to try to end this game on my terms, ever again."

Jane sighed with relief. "Thank you, Teresa," he said.

No sooner had he finished saying his thanks than Red John walked back into the room. He scooped up the phone without a word to Lisbon and asked, "Are you quite finished, Old Friend?"

"Based on your perfect timing, I'm guessing you know the answer to that question already," Jane answered spitefully.

Red John smiled. "Of course I do; after all, I'm always watching you, Old Friend. I was simply being polite."

"Oh, so now you're polite?" Jane retorted sarcastically.

"Always," Red John replied coolly, and he started walking away from Lisbon. Just before he was out of sight, he stuck his knife in the wall, and the music started playing again. Then, she was alone.

~o~

"Now then," came Red John's voice over the speaker phone on Jane's cell, "it seems we have an audience, and one that would like to interfere, at that." Jane looked up quickly at Rigsby, Cho, Van Pelt, and Bertram. Van Pelt, who had been clinging to Rigsby, her face buried in his chest, ever since Lisbon had started screaming, looked up. Rigsby was holding her tightly, as much for his own comfort as for hers. Cho's typical expressionless face was showing signs of cracking and giving way to anger. Bertram looked stunned, which did not suit his normal holier-than-thou demeanor.

"Old Friend, hold out your phone so we can make this a six-way conversation," Red John said. "After all, our company would like to know what they may and may not do in this situation, yes?"

Jane glanced between the four others, not quite sure what to do.

"Old Friend, I know they're there, and I know they're listening," Red John said dangerously. "Hold out your phone, so that they may be a part of this."

Jane took his phone away from his ear wordlessly, and held it in the general direction of his friends.

"Thank you, Old Friend," Red John said mockingly. "Now, then. Grace. Wayne. Kimball. Gale. I know you can hear me. Please acknowledge yourselves."

The four all looked at Jane for direction.

"I said, acknowledge yourselves," Red John said with mock impatience. "Surely you don't need my Old Friend's guidance for _that_."

"How did you know we were looking at Jane?" Van Pelt asked, shocked into speaking.

"Ah, Grace, thank you for breaking the ice," Red John purred. "Anyone else?"

"Answer her question," said Cho.

"Thank you, Kimball," Red John said. "Wayne? Gale? Are you going to speak up?"

"Will you answer her question once we do?" asked Rigsby.

"One to go," Red John commentated.

"Are you watching us right now?" asked Bertram.

"And we've begun!" Red John said. "Excellent! Yes, Gale, I am watching you right now, as I am all of you at all times. How? I think I'll keep that to myself, at least for now."

"You're Red John?" asked Bertram, taking on his Director-of-the-CBI tone.

"The one and only," Red John answered proudly.

"Let my agent go!" Bertram commanded.

"Or what?" Red John replied spitefully.

Bertram wasn't put off. "As director of the California Bureau of Investigation, I hereby order you to release Agent Lisbon and surrender yourself immediately!"

Red John laughed. "Come now, _Director_, surely we can skip the formalities?" he asked, putting an extra touch of sarcasm on the word 'director'. "You know perfectly well that I like my life a little too much to turn myself in, and you have absolutely no power to force me to do anything whatsoever, so can we skip the demands? In this situation, they will only waste time, and as Saint Teresa has precious little left, I don't think you want to test this situation to find out how much she has to spare."

"What do you mean?" Van Pelt exclaimed fearfully.

Red John's chilling laughter cackled over the phone. "I mean, you really don't have time to waste, if you want sweet Saint Teresa to live," he answered malevolently.

There was a pause.

"Now then, all of you…I gather that you would like to know what you may and may not do in this situation to help my Old Friend save Teresa's life?" Red John asked finally.

Everyone was silent, waiting for him to continue.

"Well?" Red John asked, feigning impatience. "Would you like to know what I will allow?"

"The CBI doesn't make deals with killers!" spat Bertram.

"Well, unless you make an exception in this case, your precious agent is as good as dead," Red John replied with a calm that was even more chilling than anger would have been. "Now, would you like to know how you all may participate in this game?"

"This isn't a game, you sick freak!" Cho shouted.

"Oh, but it _is_," Red John answered, his tone suggesting that he was enjoying pushing everyone to the edge. "This _is_ a game, and Teresa's life is the stakes. Would you like to know how you may play?"

"What are they allowed to do?" Jane asked, overriding everyone who was about to make an objection to what Red John had said.

Red John chuckled. "Well, Old Friend, I would obviously prefer it if everyone were to stay out of this completely," he answered. "Unfortunately, such a request would be unreasonable to the point of idiotic, so here is how your allies may fit in." There was a pause, and everyone knew Red John was smiling. "Wayne, Grace, Kimball, Gale, if you wish to participate, then the four of you must follow the first name rule that Teresa and My Foolish Old Friend are currently following," he said; "that is, whenever you address one another, or talk about one another, or Teresa, or my Old Friend, you must refer to one another by your first names only, even if you are talking about one another with someone on the outside of this agreement, for as long as Teresa remains in my possession. If any of you make an error in this regard…" Red John paused for effect. "Sweet Teresa will pay the price," he finished nastily.

Van Pelt's eyes widened with horror, and she put her hand to her mouth to muffle any sound she might make, but other than that, there was no response.

"Second - and this is important," Red John continued after a moment: "Only my Old Friend is allowed to look at any papers from my case file. If any of you so much as _glance_ at even _one_ of those papers, Teresa's life is forfeit. Do you understand?"

"I will not take orders-"

"_Do you understand_?" Red John demanded, cutting off Bertram's protest.

"Yes, they understand!" Jane said hurriedly, knowing that they did, even though they wouldn't say it.

Red John laughed again. "Good," he hissed.

There was another pause.

"Other than that, the four of you may do whatever you wish," Red John said after a moment.

Everyone blinked in surprise.

"What?" Van Pelt asked finally.

"You may do whatever you wish, so long as you observe the first name rule, and none of you look at any of the papers from my case file," Red John said, slowly and clearly. "Whatever you can come up with in an attempt to save Saint Teresa from me that does not violate either of those two terms is completely within your ability to do without any sort of penalty. I will not punish any of you, or Teresa, for anything any of you do, so long as you remain within the boundaries of the two terms I have set forth, you have my word."

"And can we trust your word?" asked Rigsby.

"Of course you can," Red John answered with mock indignation. "I value integrity very highly - I never break my word; and you have it, that you may do whatever you wish, so long as you hold to the first name rule and do not look at anything from my case file."

There was silence.

"Fair enough?" Red John asked mockingly after a moment.

Again, silence.

"Fair enough," Cho said after a minute.

Red John laughed. "Are you surprised that my terms are so few?" he asked.

"A little, yeah," answered Rigsby.

More laughter. "Well, any further limitations would be unreasonable on my part, as you all have such strong standards," he said mockingly. "Hopefully, these terms will be found agreeable to everyone, even Gale Bertram. Are they?"

Bertram nodded. "Yeah, fine, we'll play by your rules, if those are the only ones you're going to make," he said grudgingly.

"Excellent!" said Red John. "Welcome to the game, all of you. Farewell for now."

The line went dead.


	2. Part 2: Red Eyed

Everyone stared at the phone in Jane's hand. Finally, Jane put the phone back down on the table and said, "Now would you all please _go away_?"

"Why can't we look at anything from his case file?" asked Van Pelt.

"Because his location is hidden in there somewhere, and that's the only place anyone will be able to find it," answered Jane. Then, seeing the looks on everyone's faces, he added, "Come on, why else would he be okay with you doing anything except that? This is between him and me."

"The hell it is!" snapped Bertram.

"It is, whether you like it or not," Jane said firmly, "now go away!"

"Ja-"

"Names!" Jane shouted before Van Pelt could finish.

Van Pelt blinked; the "names" rule hadn't really sunk in.

"Okay, let's all go around the room and say each other's first names, just to break the habit of using last names," Jane said. He turned to Rigsby. "Wayne," he said. He turned to Van Pelt. "Grace." He turned to Cho. "Ah…Kimball." He turned to Bertram. "Gale." He turned back to Rigsby. "Okay," he said. "Wayne, your turn."

Rigsby was silent for a minute.

"Patrick," he said, looking at Jane. He turned to Van Pelt. "Grace." She smiled. He turned to Cho. "Um…Kimball," he said, fighting the urge to laugh. He turned to Bertram. "Gale."

Jane looked at Van Pelt.

"Patrick," she said to him. She turned to Rigsby. "Wayne." Rigsby smiled as she turned to Cho. "Kimball," she said, more steadily than anyone who had gone before her. She turned to Bertram. "Gale," she said, somewhat embarrassed.

"Patrick," Cho said, picking up his turn right away. "Wayne. Grace. Gale."

"Patrick. Wayne. Grace. Kimball," Bertram said, turning to each of them in turn.

"Good," said Jane, "and remember to call Teresa by her first name when you're talking about her. Now, Grace, what is it?"

"Um…" She hesitated; calling her comrades by their first names added an extra layer of realism - and _sur_realism - to the whole affair. "Patrick, give us your phone," she said at last. "We can trace the next call that comes in."

"He's using Teresa's cell phone," Jane told her, handing his phone over. "The next time a call comes in from that phone, you can try to trace it. I doubt you'll have any luck, though."

"It's worth a try," Van Pelt replied, sounding much more confident than she felt.

"Yes it is," Jane agreed quietly, almost to himself.

"Okay, I'd like to know exactly what's going on," Bertram said, regaining his composure and superior demeanor. "What sort of 'game' is Red John playing with you?"

Jane took a deep breath, then started painfully recounting the details of the rules Red John had laid down as his friends listened with horror.

~o~

It was a little past midday when Red John returned to Lisbon. She heard his footsteps, and she glared at him as he came into "view".

He casually stuck his knife into the wall, thereby stopping the music that was playing, as per the usual, before greeting her.

"Good afternoon, My Dear Little Saint," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Lisbon replied sarcastically.

Red John smiled. "Are you going to behave?"

"I'm not going to go out of my way to try to piss you off anymore, if that's what you're asking," Lisbon replied, "but if you're hoping I'm going to even _pretend_ to respect you, you've got something else coming."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Red John said mockingly, still smiling. "On the contrary, I'd be rather insulted if you did."

"You are one seriously messed-up freak, you know that?" Lisbon asked, shaking her head, as he stalked toward her.

His smile widened as he reached her and crouched down to her eye level. "A freak, yes," he replied; "messed-up, hardly. I'm perfectly sane."

"Right, because perfectly sane people get off on hurting other people," Lisbon responded sarcastically.

"Not typically," Red John admitted, pulling out a needle attached to a syringe full of IV fluid. "That _is_ normally a sign of some sort of pathology…but _I_ am far from normal."

"No kidding," Lisbon said mockingly, holding out her arm to accept the injection.

Red John smiled but said nothing as he injected her with what substituted for her lunch. When he was done, he capped the needle and put it away.

He tilted his head. "By the way, My Dear," he said, "if you need to use a bathroom, you need only say so."

"Why?" Lisbon asked, raising her eyebrows. "So you can laugh at me and walk away?"

Red John smiled. "So I can get you what you need," he corrected. He stood up and leaned against the wall in front of her as he started casually tossing his ever-present knife around. "Excretion of waste is a necessary biological function," he continued; "it would be illogical and unreasonable of me to attempt to deny you that."

Lisbon shook her head with disbelief. "It's fascinating the way your mind works," she said sarcastically.

Red John chuckled. "My Dear, you have_ no idea_ how my mind works," he told her, "and I would appreciate it if you not speak to me as if I were My Old Friend. Oh, yes, I know you were repeating something you said to him a few years ago," he added, seeing her expression. "I am _always_ watching My Old Friend - I have been ever since the idiot decided to join the hunt for me. I know perfectly well everything you or anyone else has ever said to him over the course of the past nine years." He tilted his head again. "Do you need to use the bathroom, My Dear?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

She smiled in spite of herself. "I find it very hard to believe that you're going to lead me to a bathroom and then let me have my privacy," she said.

"I'm not expecting you to believe _that_," Red John said matter-of-factly. "The only time I will take my eyes off you for even a second is when you're chained up right here."

Lisbon blinked. "So…you're not going to let me use the bathroom?" she asked him.

"I most certainly will, if you need to," Red John replied.

Lisbon blinked again, her mind working slowly. "Are you saying…you're going to watch?" she asked slowly.

"Yes," Red John answered simply.

Lisbon looked at him with shock and disgust.

"As I said, it's a necessary biological function," Red John added, seeing this; "it doesn't bother me in the slightest. The fact that it would bother _you_ for me to watch is _your_ problem, not mine. Now, do you have to go, or not?"

"No," Lisbon said a bit too abruptly.

Red John's smile widened. "You're lying," he whispered maliciously.

He crouched down in front of her. She drew back. He laughed, then pulled out…What was that? A pair of handcuffs? Lisbon couldn't tell for sure; the vision blockers obscured her vision too much. But that must have been what they were, because a moment later, Red John snapped one ring around her right wrist. Then, he snapped the other ring around her left wrist. The two were connected by a chain. Yes, handcuffs, though they certainly weren't like the ones police used.

Red John then took hold of the shackle that chained her right wrist to the wall, and pulled the ring around her wrist apart. He then did the same with the other. This surprised her; were they supposed to work like that, or was he just impossibly strong? Maybe both.

He grabbed her left arm and, snarling "Get up!", he jerked her to her feet. Okay, yeah, he was impossibly strong.

Red John led Lisbon out of the room and down the hall in the direction opposite the one he usually came from, and Lisbon walked with him as though in a trance; his grip, though it wasn't painful, was strong, and she didn't feel like testing his strength or his reflexes at the moment. He led her through a door, and she found herself in what was, as far as she could tell, a very small, simple bathroom. The toilet looked like it was made of wood.

What the hell? Was he actually living like this?

He undid her pants and pulled them down for her in a way that was somehow completely non-suggestive. He then pushed her down so that she was sitting on the toilet, and only then did he release her, though he didn't leave. He leaned back casually against the wall right next to her and started tossing his knife around, never taking his eyes off her.

She glared at him. No way was she going to use the toilet with him watching. _No way_ was she going to let him demean her like this.

They looked at each other for a minute silently. Finally, Red John sighed.

"My Dear," he said, "I realize that you wish to retain some dignity, but unless you do it now of your own free will, I'm going to have to force you, and that would be even less dignified for you."

"I'm not doing _anything_ with you watching!" she snarled at him.

He sighed again. "Very well," he said, standing up.

He leaned forward and pulled the back of her shirt up to her neck, and she was too confused to try to stop him. What the heck was he doing?

Gently, he placed his right hand on her bare back, and she was surprised by how his hand felt. She didn't know what she had been expecting - perhaps a dragon's claw? - but his hand was…soft. Warm. Human.

Of course it was. He _was_ human, nothing more, after all. She berated herself silently for being surprised by it as he carefully placed his fingertips on what felt to her like random places on her back…but the way he positioned his hand, she got the impression that they weren't random spots at all, because he seemed to be aiming for specific points.

Suddenly, without warning, he applied a large amount of pressure to each of the points under his fingertips, and her breath choked out of her lungs forcefully as everything voided without her willing it.

She couldn't breathe, and she had no control over her own muscles - it was too scary to be disgusting or even humiliating. It was a full twenty seconds before he let go. When he did, she gasped and choked, fighting for air, as he casually activated a spray of water, washing her off, and flushed the toilet.

"What-what was that?" Lisbon finally managed.

"Pressure points," Red John answered with a shrug, and the casual way in which he said it made her suddenly fearful of what else he could do to her with "pressure points".

Red John then jerked her to her feet, pulled up her pants, re-zipped and -buttoned her jeans, took hold of her left arm, and started leading her back to her room. His sudden manipulation of her body had deeply shocked her, so her mind was moving very slowly, and it wasn't until she was sitting back in her bloodstained corner, shackled once more to the walls, that she was able to finish processing the fact that Red John had, in a way, raped her.

"You're disgusting," she finally managed, just as he was standing up.

"Why?" he asked. "Because I'm not bound by cultural convention?"

"Oh, is _that_ what you think your problem is?" Lisbon asked angrily.

Red John's smile really was very irritating. "On the contrary, My Dear," he replied; "that is one of several problems I am blessed to _not_ have. Well," he amended, "if you define 'problem' as 'something that differs from the way everyone else sees things', it _is_ a 'problem', but I don't think that's what you meant."

"Damn right!" Lisbon snarled.

Red John chuckled, and his chuckle was also very irritating. "No, My Dear," he said in a tone that could almost be described as fond, "my _problem_, as you so call it, is that I'm _evil_."

"Damn you to hell," Lisbon said flatly.

"Farewell to you, too, My Dear," Red John said back with a smile, and he walked away, sticking his knife in the wall once more as he did so and leaving the now-too-familiar strains of piano music playing in his wake.

~o~

When Red John came to Lisbon again that night to give her her "dinner", she had regained her composure, and accepted the injections in silence, glaring at him.

When he was done, he stayed crouched down for a moment and looked at her.

"Kiss me," he said.

Lisbon blinked, certain she had misheard him. "What?" she asked him incredulously.

"Kiss me," he repeated, smiling slightly.

For a moment, Lisbon just shook her head, too bewildered to speak. "Not even if you _begged_!" she finally spat.

Red John chuckled. "Good night, My Dear," he said, standing up, and with that, he left her for the night, turning on the music right before he disappeared around the corner.

Lisbon leaned back against the wall, realizing that she had to sleep then if she was ever going to sleep at all…and that this wait would be a very long, trying ordeal.

~o~

Sunrise came and went, and left Lisbon with another cut, if one not nearly as big and painful as the last one had been. Her daily cuts were simple matters of Red John hacking her open and pulling his knife back out, though Lisbon was quickly getting tired of bathing in her own blood. Breakfast time, too, came and went, and Lisbon was getting very good at accepting her injections with silent disdain. As Red John left her, however, she called after him.

"Could you leave the damn music off?" she shouted as he was about to stick his knife in the wall again.

He paused, then turned back to her. "You don't like it?" he asked mockingly. "That's a shame." He walked back towards her, then leaned against the wall in front of her in his normal casual manner, absentmindedly twirling his knife around. "It's one of My Old Friend's favorite pieces," he continued, "which is a tad bit ironic, as it also happens to be my _absolute_favorite."

"_That's_ your favorite piece of music?" Lisbon asked incredulously.

Red John smiled. "Does that surprise you?" he asked.

"A little bit, yeah," Lisbon answered.

He tilted his head. "Why?"

"Because it so completely clashes with you…with everything you are," Lisbon replied.

Red John smiled again. "True," he admitted. "I suppose it might be my favorite because it was the first piece I learned to play, and, in doing so, prove to the world that I am a genius."

"So you're a musician?" Lisbon asked, eyebrows raised.

"My Dear, I am many things," Red John replied, his smile widening. "First and foremost, I am-"

"A killer?" Lisbon finished.

Red John tilted his head and shrugged. "I was going to say 'monster', but 'killer' works," he answered.

Lisbon blinked. "Who the hell thinks of themselves as a monster?" she asked.

"_I_ do," Red John said, still smiling, "and proudly so at that."

Lisbon shook her head. "You are one seriously screwed-up freak," she said.

Red John gave a long-suffering sigh. "My Dear, we've been through this," he said with mock exasperation; "I am not screwed up, and I am perfectly well aware that I am a freak."

It didn't seem to get on Red John's nerves particularly, so Lisbon decided not to argue the point. "It's kind of messed up that you like classical music," she said instead.

Red John chuckled. "Well, my adopted parents played it to me constantly when I was an infant," he said. "They later liked to think that it had something to do with my remarkable intellect." He smiled. "Fools. I was born the way I am."

"You were adopted?" asked Lisbon. "At birth?"

"Indeed," Red John answered.

Lisbon processed this. "Have you ever thought about trying to find your birth parents?" she asked.

"My Dear, I have no need to try to find them," Red John replied, "I know exactly where they are: a cemetery in downtown San Francisco."

"Oh," said Lisbon. "I'm sorry."

"Are you? Are you really?" Red John asked, laughing. "If you are, then you're even more of an idiot than My Foolish Old Friend!"

"It's just something people say," Lisbon snarled; "I was being polite. Force of habit. Of course I'm not sorry."

"Good," Red John replied with a smile.

There was a pause.

"Go ahead, ask me," Red John said after a minute.

"Ask you what?" Lisbon asked.

Red John smiled. "You want to know how my adopted parents treated me, do you not? You want to know why I am the way I am, if they were mean to me, if I am not to blame for the way I behave…do you not?"

"Yeah, sure," Lisbon admitted coldly. "How did they treat you?"

"_Wonderfully_," Red John answered, his smile widening. "They were _excellent_ parents. They couldn't have children of their own, you see, and they worked _so hard_ to be the best parents in the world…and they did a fine job of it, too." Red John's smile stretched a little wider as he watched his knife spin through the air as he tossed it up and down. "Had they been raising anyone else, they would have produced a fabulous human being. Unfortunately, the poor fools got stuck with me."

"Are they dead too?" Lisbon asked, noting that he was only talking about them in the past tense.

"Yes," Red John answered, still smiling.

"Did you kill them?" Lisbon asked.

Red John tilted his head and watched the light reflect off the blade of his knife. "Did I kill them…" he repeated ponderously. "Let's see." He shrugged. "I killed my adopted mother," he said. "As for my adopted father, well, there was no need. All I had to do was go to him right after I killed her, still covered in her blood, and tell him exactly what I had done, and the poor fool did the rest of the work for me." The indifferent manner in which he was speaking made Lisbon shudder internally.

"Why did you kill them if they were so good to you?" she asked, burying her horror.

Red John shrugged. "They went from being assets to hinderances," he answered nonchalantly. "They cut me off, decided I had to learn to make my own way in the world - which is not a bad lesson for parents to teach their children, I readily admit. The thing is, doing that would have taken _time_, and life is_ so short…_it was simply easier for me to do away with them. It wasn't as though I was asking them for anything illegal, or even anything unreasonable," he added, seeing the look on Lisbon's face. "All I wanted was to continue my education. That, and…one other thing, the only thing I'd ever asked for out of selfishness." He shrugged again. "But they seemed determined to get in my way all of a sudden, so I got rid of them." He smiled as he relived the memory. "It wasn't like I didn't give them a chance, though; after all, they _had_ been so good to me - offering them a chance was the least I could do in return. Sadly, my idiot adopted mother didn't understand. It was her I approached concerning the matter, as she was always the dominant member of my adopted parents' relationship." He chuckled. "The poor fool just _couldn't believe_ that I would actually _hurt_ her," he reminisced, and Lisbon got the feeling that he wasn't even really talking to her anymore. "I was _her little boy_," he went on, his tone dripping with mockery at the last three words. "I did a little too well at making her think I was something I wasn't, so when the time came…" He shrugged again. "…she just didn't take my threats seriously. Honestly, I don't think she believed it even after I started cutting her up." He laughed.

Lisbon shivered, and was grateful that Red John was too deep into the memory to notice.

"As for my adopted father…" He chuckled. "Well, the poor old fool was lost without her. He simply couldn't go on. He committed suicide almost right away - hung himself. He didn't even think to write a will. He left a note, but all it said was, 'I'm sorry'." Red John grinned. "Between that and the details I gave the police officers who investigated the case, about how their marriage had been going downhill and how they'd been fighting constantly, how I had been _so worried_ that something like this would happen…well, they decided it was a murder/suicide, and left it at that. Little did they suspect that what my idiot adopted father was trying to apologize for was allowing a monster like me to flourish and grow to adulthood." He laughed.

"If they didn't have a will, and since you were their sole heir, you stood to gain everything they had," Lisbon said, thinking out loud. "Didn't the cops ever think that that might be motive?"

"Of course they did," Red John answered; "in fact, they looked at me very closely." He smiled again. "But they saw only what I wanted them to see," he hissed: "a grieving, horrified son, who loved his late parents with all his heart." Red John laughed his evil laugh once more.

"What heart?" Lisbon asked mockingly.

Red John laughed some more. "You still don't get it, do you, My Dear?" he asked condescendingly. "Oh well. I'm not the easiest person to understand, so your lack of comprehension is only to be expected."

Lisbon ignored him and asked, "Was your adopted mother the first person you murdered?"

Red John laughed again. "Oh, My Dear," he said, "do you really think I'm going to tell you something useful? Please. I'm not going to give you anything that you would be able to use against me, in the unlikely event that you ever leave this place alive."

Lisbon hid her disappointment by asking, "Why are you being so careful? Do you think Patrick is going to rescue me?"

"No," Red John replied with a sneer. "Of course not. You're as good as dead."

"Then why are you being cautious?" Lisbon asked again.

Red John sighed and tilted his head. "My Dear," he said, "I hate My Old Friend. I utterly despise him. His very existence disgusts me. But just because I _hate_ him, doesn't mean I can't_learn_ from him, and what I've learned from him is this: Never take anything for granted." He smiled. "I'm not going to make the common error of being cocky. As there is a chance that you will live, if an infinitesimally small one, I will not tell you anything you really want to know."

He stood up. "Well, that's quite enough for now," he said with an air of finality. "If you don't like the music, I will leave it off; I merely thought that you might like to have something to listen to other than the tick-tick-tick of your own looming demise." He shrugged. "But if you wish, I won't play it to you anymore. Farewell for now." And with that, he walked away, leaving a very disturbed Lisbon in his wake…but no music.

~o~

At 11:00 a.m., Jane's cell phone was finally hooked up to the CBI call tracing system.

The delay had been caused by the general chaos that had ensued when Bertram had announced to the Bureau (and the world) that Lisbon had been kidnapped. But now, Van Pelt had her computer at the ready, and Bertram was standing next to her.

No sooner was everything set up than the phone rang. Van Pelt checked the caller ID.

Lisbon.

The timing was a little too perfect to be a coincidence, and Van Pelt knew right away that it wouldn't work, but she had to try.

Bertram eagerly watched over her shoulder as the call was traced. Finally, a message came up:

**Call could not be traced.**

**Show possible locations?**

"'Show possible locations'?" Van Pelt repeated, confused. "I've never seen _that_ option before."

"Click on it," Bertram ordered.

Van Pelt obliged.

A map of the entire state of California appeared. For a moment, it was blank. Then, a few red circles appeared, scattered far apart from one another. Then, a few more appeared. Then more. And more. First a few, then dozens, then hundreds, then thousands of red circles started appearing per second, covering the entire state.

Bertram and Van Pelt watched as it continued for two whole minutes, speechless. Finally, the red circles stopped appearing.

Then, some more started appearing, close together, one at a time, in a line that curved into a circle that was broken at the top, followed by one curved line, then another, and then another, forming the shape of Red John's signature smiley face.

At last, it stopped.

"Who…" Bertram was rendered all but speechless. "Who…_is_ this guy?"

Before Van Pelt could come up with an answer, a message popped up on the screen, the words colored red:

**I'm Red John.**

Bertram and Van Pelt blinked. He was watching them closely enough to answer their questions on the spot?

Suddenly, the whole screen turned white. Then, Red John's signature smiley face drew itself in red on the white canvass. Pixellated drops oozed down from the lines, sort of like they did in real life when the picture was drawn in blood. Then, everything was still.

But only for a moment.

Suddenly, all the monitors of all the computers in the CBI started turning white, then having the smiley face drawn in red. In the space of two minutes, every computer in CBI HQ was completely incapacitated, even personal laptops.

For a moment, no one in the building moved, all of them dumbstruck.

Red John was clearly trying to make a point, and his message was heard, loud and clear, by everyone in the Bureau:

_I'm the one calling the shots._

~o~

"Here's your phone back," Van Pelt said to Jane, coming in through the door and setting Jane's cell phone down next to the papers on the desk, being careful not to look at any of them.

"Thanks," Jane grunted. He paused a moment, reading through some file or other, then said, "So I take it tracing the call didn't work?"

"Red John took over all the computers in the building and froze them by changing the screens to pictures of his smiley face on a white background after we tried," Van Pelt answered.

"Show-off," Jane muttered.

"He certainly made his point," Van Pelt agreed, signs of shock and awe in her tone.

"Does Gale have a back-up plan?" Jane asked, not looking away from the papers he was going through.

"The only thing he can come up with is to let you do your thing while we sit on our hands and wait," Van Pelt replied.

"Good," Jane grunted, turning a page.

"Have...have you eaten anything? I mean, since this started?" Van Pelt asked after a moment.

"Nope."

"Can I get you something?" she asked hesitantly.

"Tea would be nice, thank you," Jane answered absentmindedly.

"Okay," Van Pelt said softly, and she left.

Jane was so hyper-focused on what he was doing that he would never remember any of their conversation.

~o~

Days passed, and Jane got nowhere. Slowly, the night came that was the one-week anniversary of the night Lisbon had been taken.

Van Pelt came into the office Jane was still poring over Red John's case file in, carrying a teacup on a saucer.

"Patrick?" she said softly.

"M?" Jane grunted.

Van Pelt sighed. "Have you slept at all since this started?" she asked.

"Nope."

Of course he hadn't. He wouldn't have eaten all that week, either, if she hadn't kept coming in, bringing him food and pestering him to eat and drink, constantly telling him that he couldn't save Lisbon if he worked himself to death.

"Patrick…" Van Pelt said, slowly and softly. "Maybe you should…take a break. Get some rest."

"Rest?" Jane demanded, turning on her, revealing a worn, greasy face and heavily bloodshot eyes. "How can I rest, knowing that Teresa's out there, waiting for me - knowing that her life is in my hands, and that I can't waste time?"

"Patrick, be reasonable," Van Pelt replied; "no one can function without sleep. You're probably not even seeing what's in front of you. You need to rest so you can think clearly."

"I can't sleep," Jane told her, almost crazily. "I couldn't if I tried."

Van Pelt sighed. "Well, here, at least drink this," she said, handing him the cup.

Jane snatched it from her hands, and as she turned around and went out the door, he downed the entire cup of tea in one gulp, then set the dishes aside.

Van Pelt hurried to where Cho and Rigsby were sitting around and waiting.

"Guys, come with me, I need your help," she said to them.

"With what?" asked Cho tonelessly.

"I just slipped Patrick some sleeping pills, and I need you guys to help me get him to his couch," Van Pelt answered.

Rigsby and Cho both looked at Van Pelt, wide-eyed.

"Just come help me!" she pleaded impatiently, and without waiting for a response, she turned around and walked back to Jane's temporary office, where he had collapsed into a deep sleep.

Rigsby and Cho followed her, and together, the three of them managed to carry Jane to his couch and lay him down.

"He's heavy," Rigsby commented when they were done.

Cho nodded in agreement but, per the usual, said nothing. Van Pelt looked at Jane's sleeping form and bit her lip.

"I had to," she said apologetically. "I'm sorry…but you were going to work yourself to death…"

"Grace, it's okay," Rigsby said to her reassuringly. "You did the right thing."

"I know," Van Pelt said miserably. "But…"

_But now there's no one doing anything to find Lisbon._ She couldn't bring herself to say the words, but all three of them were thinking it.

~o~

Jane found himself in his room, standing in the doorway, staring at the faded smiley face drawn in his wife's blood that loomed over his small bed.

He blinked. How had he gotten there?

"It's about time you showed up," said an angry voice to his left.

Jane turned toward the voice with a start…and started again when he saw who was speaking.

"Sam?" he asked, confused. "Sam Bosco?"

"Hello, Jane," Bosco said coldly.

Jane blinked.

"Relax," Bosco said, rolling his eyes, "you're asleep…and it's about time. I've been waiting a whole week to yell at you for this."

"What? I don't-" Jane stammered.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Bosco demanded, taking a step towards Jane.

"What do you mean?" Jane asked dumbly.

"Do you remember my dying wish?" Bosco demanded, getting angrier. "Do you remember the last thing I asked of you?"

"You told me to look after her," Jane said softly.

"That's right," Bosco said angrily, nodding. "So tell me: What the hell is Red John doing with her as his captive?"

"I - what - there was nothing I could have done!" Jane protested, stammering. "I wasn't there!"

"And why the hell not?" Bosco demanded furiously.

"Because I'm not her bodyguard?" Jane suggested.

"_And why the hell not_?" Bosco repeated, completely furious.

Jane blinked, confused, unable to answer.

"Didn't it _ever_ occur to you, for one _second_, that Red John would come after her?" Bosco demanded. "Didn't you _ever_ consider the fact that Red John goes after people you care about?_Huh_? Didn't you _ever_ think that you needed to _protect_ her?"

"I've been pushing her away since the day we met for that exact reason!" Jane exclaimed defensively.

"Well, it sure as hell hasn't been working, has it?" Bosco snarled. "Or didn't _that_ occur to you?"

"It's not like I could just make her accept round-the-clock protection!" Jane protested. "She'd take that as an insult! She can take care of herself!"

"One, _no one_ can fight Red John off alone if he wants to get at them," Bosco snapped, "and two, since when do you give a damn about insulting people?"

"I…" Jane didn't know how to answer. Finally, he asked, "What was I supposed to do? Follow her home every night?"

"_Yes_," Bosco answered, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "At the very least, you could have done something to make sure Red John couldn't get at her. But no, you_never_ think of whether or not you're endangering people who are close to you, do you?" Bosco's tone had gone sarcastic and scathing. "You _never_ think to check yourself and what you're doing to make sure that the people you care about don't get _killed_ because of you, _do you_?"

Jane winced, but he accepted the blow without protest; after all, it was perfectly fair.

"Now let me make something very clear to you," Bosco continued after a moment, stepping forward so that he was directly in Jane's face. "If you don't save her, I will never let you live it down!"

"If I don't save her, you won't have to do anything," Jane told Bosco solemnly. "If she dies because of me, and I have to hear it…" He shook his head, fighting back tears. "I won't be able to go on living."

"That's about the most selfish thing I have ever heard!" Bosco snarled. "What, you're gonna kill yourself if you fail? Don't you get it? You're the only one who can stop that son of a bitch! If you die while he's still out there, he has free rein for the rest of his life!" Bosco shook his head in disgust. "_We_ all know it, but _you_ don't have a goddamn clue!"

"'We'?" Jane repeated, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Everyone Red John has ever killed, or has had killed," Bosco said. "We're all stuck. It's a nice place, a lot better than hell, but we can't pass on as long as that son of a bitch is still having his way with life."

Jane laughed. "Why would my subconscious try to scare me with stories of the afterlife and all that malarkey?"

"I said you're asleep, not dreaming," Bosco sneered.

"So you're saying this is real?" Jane asked skeptically.

"I'm real," Bosco snapped. "I'm the real me, or what's left of me. Look, you don't have to believe it," he said, raising his hand to stop Jane's comment. "Just get Teresa back alive. We don't want her to join us."

"Neither do I," Jane replied.

"Okay, so why did it take a spiked cup of tea to get you to sleep?" Bosco asked sarcastically.

"How can I sleep, knowing-?"

"Knowing what?" Bosco interrupted. "Knowing you have _at least twenty-four hours_ from any given time to save her? Knowing that, ironic as it may be, _he's_ treating _her_ better than_you're_ treating your_self_?"

"Knowing that my time is limited," Jane finished, a bit shamefaced, knowing that Bosco had a point.

"Yes, Jane, your time is limited," Bosco snarled mockingly, "so do what you have to to be able to use what time you have! You won't be able to do anything if you don't eat and sleep!"

"It's not that simple," Jane said. "I'm…I'm too anxious to sleep. I don't sleep much anyway, and this…"

"So take some sleeping pills!" Bosco shouted. "They've got you sleeping now, don't they?"

"Okay," Jane said slowly.

"Okay," Bosco repeated. "Get some rest, get your act together, and _get her back_!"

"Yes, sir," Jane said half-mockingly.

Bosco nodded, and everything faded away.

~o~

"It'll be sunrise soon," Rigsby said listlessly. "Should we wake him up?"

"Can't. He's drugged," grunted Cho.

"I'll go get his phone," said Van Pelt, and she left.

When she came back five minutes later, no one had moved.

"What do you think Red John'll do if Ja-" Rigsby caught himself. "If Patrick isn't awake when it's time for him to…you know…"

"I don't know," Van Pelt replied, too anxious to sink into the stupor that Rigsby and Cho were in, "and I hope we won't have to find out."

There was silence for a minute. The three friends hadn't slept much over the course of the past week; the atmosphere, though stupor-inducing, was also somehow too tense for anyone to feel at ease enough to sleep well.

Suddenly, Jane groaned.

"He's waking up!" exclaimed Rigsby, as though the other two hadn't noticed.

In fact, Jane woke up remarkably quickly.

"Ohh…" he groaned. He blinked a few times, then sat up. "What happened?" he asked groggily.

"I drugged you," Van Pelt told him softly. Jane rubbed the sleep from his eyes as she continued, "You needed to sleep; you'd've killed yourself if I hadn't spiked your tea."

"What time is it?" Jane asked, still a bit groggy.

"Its almost sunrise." Rigsby broke the news as gently as he could.

It wasn't nearly enough.

"_What_?" Jane exclaimed, jumping to his feet, all traces of sleepiness gone.

"Patrick, I'm sorry, I had to-"

"How long was I asleep?" Jane demanded, cutting Van Pelt off.

Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt glanced between each other silently; none of them had bothered to check the time at any point during the night. "Several hours, at least," Cho answered finally.

Jane gritted his teeth and shook his head, too angry to speak.

Then he remembered his dream.

_You won't be able to do anything if you don't eat and sleep!...Get some rest, get your act together, and _get her back_!_

Jane sighed and forced his irritation away, knowing that what Van Pelt had done was for the best. "Thank you, Grace," he made himself say as he sat back down, "I needed that."

Van Pelt nodded. "Here's your phone," she said, handing him his cell phone.

Jane looked at the phone gloomily, then reached out and took it.

Two seconds later, it rang. Jane checked the caller ID.

Lisbon.

Jane took a moment to glare at each of his three friends before answering it, taking care to turn on the speaker phone before lifting the phone to his ear.

"Hello," he said flatly.

"Good morning, Old Friend, I hope you slept well?" came Red John's mocking voice over the line. "You had me worried, you know. I was afraid you might die of acute exhaustion."

"Thanks for your concern," Jane said sarcastically.

Red John laughed. "Anyway, Old Friend, _it's sunrise_!" he said, saying the last two words in a singsong voice.

The sound of a knife sinking into human flesh came over the line, but Lisbon didn't make a sound. Jane gripped the phone tightly, but out of respect for Lisbon, he said nothing, not even when Red John laughed.

"Well, then, back to work for you," Red John said in a singsong voice after a minute. "Oh, and Grace: well played. Very well played indeed." Van Pelt's eyes widened. "I honestly thought that there was nothing you would be able to do to help save sweet Teresa if you held to my rules, but I stand corrected," Red John continued, not sounding upset at all. "Very impressive. Fear not, I there shall be no penalty; you held to my rules, and I gave you my word that if you did, I would not do extra harm to Teresa." There was a pause, and the four teammates could almost hear Red John smile. "Very impressive indeed. Farewell for now, all of you."

The line went dead.

Jane sat in silence for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he stood up and went back to his new temporary office, where the key to saving Lisbon impatiently waited to be discovered among the piles of papers from Red John's case file.


	3. Part 3: The Color of Death

Lisbon wasn't quite sure that she preferred the silence to the disturbingly calm and peaceful music Red John had been playing, but she wasn't about to let him know that. He had reminded her the previous night that it had been one whole week since he had brought her here, and while she tried not to show it, the nerve-racking wait was starting to take a toll on her psyche. It didn't help that she was spending her days and nights bathing in her own blood, either.

Nine cuts. Red John had added another to her lower right arm and one on the front of her torso, angled deliberately to be prevented from hitting any internal organs by her bones and, oddly enough, also avoiding her breasts. Lisbon didn't feel like questioning it. Having thus run out of places to cut her on the front of her upper body, however, he had started pulling her forward by her hair and cutting open her back each morning, and since her shoulderblades were basically flat plates of bone, he had been able to use more force without causing damage to her organs. The resulting wounds were incredibly painful, not least because she had to lean against them when she wanted to relax her muscles, which would have made sleep - or even rest - extremely difficult, if it hadn't been for that other special drug he was giving her. Being in excruciating pain but able to function perfectly well both physically and mentally at the same time was an incredibly odd sensation, and Lisbon occasionally wondered how the heck Red John had done it. It seemed an unlikely accomplishment for even a whole _group_ of biochemists working together, and if he had truly created it on his own…_No one can be _that_ smart,_ Lisbon told herself.

And if he _was_…

The thought was too scary for Lisbon to consider.

But when Red John gave her her "breakfast" injections, she couldn't maintain her silence anymore, and as he was walking away, she weakly asked, "Why are you doing this?"

Red John paused, then turned around slowly. "I beg your pardon, My Dear?" he asked, and his slow smile told Lisbon that he knew that the fact that she had asked meant that she was starting to crack.

No. She wasn't going to let him win. Steadying herself, she demanded, "Why do you do what you do? Why do you hurt people?"

"Ah." Red John tilted his head, and he adjusted his smile to make it somehow even more sinister, and she perfectly understood what it meant: He was mockingly playing along with her 'I haven't cracked yet' act. _Jackass._ Almost ironically, his mocking attitude actually helped her resist him by making her angrier.

He walked back over to her and assumed his normal position leaning against the wall in front of her, tossing his knife around absentmindedly. "Psychologists, neurologists, and criminologists would tell you that while I was in my mother's womb, a specific part of my brain didn't develop properly, and that, as a result, following a stressor in my life - in my case, my adopted parents cutting me off - I killed once, and my mal-developed brain responded in such a way that I developed an impulse to kill again and again." He smiled, gazing at the way the light reflected off the blade of his knife, at the conclusion of this relatively long-winded answer. "They would tell you that I cannot help myself - that I _have_ to kill people."

"They would _tell_ me that," Lisbon repeated slowly, knowing by now that Red John's choice of words was always very important. "Would they be wrong?"

Red John's smile widened irritatingly. "My Dear," he hissed, "they would be _completely_ wrong. My brain is perfectly developed - I've checked. There is no reason for me to be the way I am. There is nothing wrong _with_ me; I simply…" He shrugged. "…_a__m_ wrong. I am whole. I'm just _evil_. But I _can_ help myself. I could easily set this knife down right now and never harm another human being again if I so desired. That is simply not what I desire. No…" He leaned toward her. "I kill, because I _choose_ to kill," he told her in a malevolent whisper, "and I _choose_ to kill…" His voice became more sinister and snakelike. "…because it's _fun_." He smiled and straightened himself. "Does that answer your question, My Dear?" he asked her.

"That about covers it, yeah," Lisbon answered sarcastically, surprisingly not having to force a mocking smile. "Here's another one, though," she added: "Do you always talk like that?"

"Like what?" asked Red John.

"Like some sort of archaic textbook?" Lisbon replied, her sarcastic tone perfectly matching her cynical glare.

Red John chuckled. "Yes, My Dear, that is simply part of who I am," he answered. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"It's a little irritating, yeah," Lisbon replied mockingly, nodding.

Red John chuckled again. "My Dear, I'm sure there are many things about me that you consider to be more than a _little_ irritating," he said, his ever-mocking tone unchanging; "and like all parts of me, the way I speak is something I am far too proud of to even consider letting go."

Lisbon shook her head, her eyes still glaring daggers at him. "You are one _seriously_ twisted freak," she said matter-of-factly.

"And proud of it," Red John added with a smile.

They stared off for a minute, Lisbon's glare unwavering.

"My, my," Red John finally said, "you _are_ a fiery one, aren't you?" He smiled again. "In what distant deeps or skies/ Burned the fire of thine eyes?/ On what wings dare he aspire?/ What the hand dare seize the fire?" he recited softly.

Lisbon thought a moment. "Yours, for one," she answered.

Suddenly, Red John laughed…but it wasn't his usual, chillingly evil laugh. It was a _sincere_ laugh. Normal. _Human_, even.

And, as such, very confusing.

"Good answer, My Dear!" he chuckled, sounding strangely sincere.

And with that, he walked away, leaving a very confused Lisbon in his wake.

~o~

Two more days passed, and still Jane was nowhere closer to saving Lisbon. Her psyche was starting to erode, but she worked hard to keep her strength up. Realizing very quickly that sitting around, thinking about how she was basically waiting to die, was the quickest path to insanity, she forced herself to think about something else.

Oddly enough, the most pleasant diversion that came to mind was Jane. Not him in general, of course; but fond memories, times that he had made her happy or had gone out of his way to try to make her smile. Somehow, everything seemed a lot funnier when she was waiting to be murdered, and a lot of the silly things he'd done that she had found annoying at the time actually made her laugh as she sat alone, in the semi-darkness, bathing in her own blood…like the time he'd walked into her office and randomly started soft-stepping…or the time she had commented that she hoped he knew what he was doing and he replied that he was "about 78% sure". The time she punched him in the nose was one of her favorites…and, though she would never admit it to anyone, so was her memory of dancing with him to her favorite song.

Thus came the afternoon that Red John came to her to give her her "lunch" injections and found her with her eyes closed, chuckling to herself.

"Where are you, My Dear?" he asked her.

Lisbon's eyes snapped open as she was quickly jerked back to reality. "Right here," she answered coolly, glaring up at him.

Red John smiled his annoying smile. "Where _were_ you?" he asked her. "Just now, in your mind?"

"Can I not at least have privacy inside my own head?" Lisbon snapped in reply.

Red John chuckled and stalked toward her. "My Dear, I know perfectly well where you were just now," he told her; "I was simply being polite."

"Oh, really?" she asked sarcastically.

"But of course," Red John answered with an amused shrug. "You're sitting here, alone, waiting for me to kill you; you have twelve large, painful, open wounds that have you bathing in your own blood; and you're laughing. What else could make you laugh in your situation, but My Foolish Old Friend?" As he finished, he reached her and knelt down to give her her injections.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lisbon asked as she extended her left arm to accept the needles.

"Well, it's obvious," Red John replied with a smirk. "Anyone with eyes can see how much that idiot means to you."

"He's not an idiot!" Lisbon snapped. "Patrick Jane is a much smarter man than you will _ever_ be!"

Red John chuckled as he finished injecting her with her various 'medications'. "You're lucky I don't take offense to that," he said, standing up. "However, I would expect nothing else from you. After all…" He shrugged mockingly, leaning against the wall casually like he always did, "'Love is blind, and lovers cannot see,'" he quoted.

"What?" Lisbon asked, genuinely confused.

"Oh, come now," Red John said with mock exasperation, "anyone who has seen you with him for the space of five minutes can see that you're hopelessly in love with the fool."

Lisbon blinked. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face, and she laughed.

"That has got to be the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," she managed through her laughter.

Red John rolled his eyes. "You are also the indisputable queen of The Deceptively Lovely Land of Denial," he said.

"I'm not in denial," Lisbon smirked, "and I'm not in love with your _old friend_." She placed extra sarcastic emphasis on the last two words.

Red John chuckled. "Is that so?" he asked mockingly. "Your behavior says otherwise."

"How so?" asked Lisbon, equally mocking.

Red John tilted his head, his smile unwavering. "My Dear, anyone who knows you without having seen your interactions with him would think that your job is your life - that it's all you have, and it's all you care about." His smile widened. "But how many times have you been, not only willing, but _happy_, to risk your entire career, just for him, hmm? How many times have you happily accepted suspension from work, just to help him in his quest to catch me? How many times have you nearly died for him? And do you think I don't know about the time you were willing to throw away, not only your own career, but also that of your dear friend Samuel Bosco, just to get my Old Friend out of jail?"

"Don't you _dare_ talk about Sam!" Lisbon snarled through gritted teeth, but Red John's only response to her outburst was to widen his smile slightly. "Patrick and I are _friends_," Lisbon continued furiously, still through gritted teeth. "I can care about him without being in love with him!"

"Not as much as you appear to, you can't," Red John replied.

Lisbon shook her head. "Fine," she spat. "Keep telling yourself whatever you like, see if I care."

"Keep telling _your_self that you _don't_ care," Red John sneered in reply. Then his tone and expression softened as he added, "But, My Dear, at least do this much, for your own sake, in the unlikely event that you manage to leave this place alive: consider these words, not as words I have spoken, but as advice, independent from any source." He leaned toward her, and a menacing hiss crept into his voice. "Life is too short to waste living in denial…" he told her, lifting the tip of his knife to her throat, "because you never know when it might end."

And with that, he walked away.

~o~

Another day passed, with no progress. Lisbon could feel her resolve starting to crumble away. Now, when Red John told her to kiss him - which he did every night - she had gone from disgustedly spitting "not even if you begged" to glaring at him silently. The pain of her ever-increasing wounds, though it didn't physically or mentally impair her, was battering at her psyche even when Red John wasn't around, and there was no escape, day or night. Even her dreams had started to become painful.

Lisbon knew that if she kept silent like this, she would break, so at 'lunchtime' on her tenth day, she spoke.

"How old were you when you cut open the family pet?" she asked Red John bitingly.

"I didn't," he replied simply.

"So you didn't have a pet?" Lisbon asked, her tone still antagonistic.

"No, we did," Red John answered, finishing with Lisbon's injections and standing up. "I just never cut her open."

"'Her'?" Lisbon repeated, raising her eyebrows.

Red John smiled. "My adopted parents had a cat," he told her. "A female cat, a few years old - essentially in her prime." He leaned against the wall, like he always did when he was talking to her. "Her name was Rita," he continued. "There's actually a rather funny story behind that. Would you like to hear it, My Dear Little Saint?"

"Oh, of course," Lisbon said sarcastically. "I love hearing you tell me stories."

Red John tilted his head. "My Dear, I can't tell if that was intended to be a 'yes' or a 'no'," he said.

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Sure," she said; "it's not like I have anything better to do."

"No, it's not," Red John chuckled softly. "Very well, then: my adopted parents' cat, Rita.

"I was always told that, before I was born, Rita was such a sweet, good tempered cat, and very tolerant, especially of babies and small children," he began; "it was one of many reasons my adopted parents chose to adopt a child when they did. From what I've gathered, Rita never fled, hissed at, or growled at anyone." Red John smiled. "So of course, my adopted parents were completely dumbstruck when, the moment they came through the door of our home, carrying me, Rita took one look at me and hissed, rather viciously."

"Good kitty," Lisbon commented.

Red John chuckled. "Yes, she was," he said. "In fact, were it not for the sheer absurdity of the idea, one might have gotten the impression from the way she behaved that she was actually capable of thought and reason.

"Not only did she hiss at me, but, from the moment my adopted parents put me in my crib, she actually _attacked_ me. My adopted parents were utterly perplexed, for Rita had never behaved this way toward anyone. It wasn't as though I was noisy or had attempted to do anything to her - she simply hated me, for no reason my adopted parents could discern. My first memories are of lying in my crib, hearing Rita's hissing at my door over the sound of the music my adopted parents played to me."

"Wait a minute," Lisbon interrupted. "You're saying you remember as far back as when you were a _baby_?"

"Six months old, in fact," Red John said, nodding.

"That's impossible," Lisbon said.

"So am I," Red John replied.

Lisbon blinked.

Red John's lips curved into his patented wicked smile, and Lisbon was once again intimidated by the unknown. "As I was saying, Rita's behavior completely stupefied my adopted parents," he went on. "As I grew past infancy, I myself wondered why she seemed so hostile toward me; you see, back then, I myself was unaware of my nature, for obvious reasons. When I started walking and talking, my adopted parents worked very hard to keep Rita from harming me, the fools. I was kept locked in my room a lot of the time, though my parents tried to give me everything I could need or want otherwise.

"I shared my adopted parents' perplexity at her behavior, and I wanted to befriend her." Red John smiled nastily at this, making his feelings about the thought of wanting to "befriend" something perfectly clear. "Almost ironically, this was, indirectly, how I discovered my enjoyment of learning; you see, I wanted to learn more about cats, in the hopes of finding a way to reassure Rita, which is how I came across my first piece of non-fictitious piece of writing." He chuckled darkly. "At any rate, the day arrived that I approached her the way one should approach a cat: calmly, quietly, and slowly, making every possible attempt not to be intimidating. To the surprise of both myself and my adopted parents, Rita, for once, did not flee or attack me. Granted, she flattened her ears and growled, but she remained where she was. I approached her very slowly - as slowly and unthreateningly as any two-year-old can be-"

"'Two-year-old'?" Lisbon interrupted.

"Yes, My Dear, this happened when I was two years old," Red John said.

"And you were _reading_?" Lisbon exclaimed.

"My Dear, I was reading _long_ before my second birthday," Red John replied, smiling.

Lisbon shook her head in astonishment. "What _are_ you?" she finally managed.

"My Dear, I am many things," he answered, still smiling; "first and foremost, I am a-"

"Monster," Lisbon finished for him. "Yeah, I know. You've told me that before."

Red John's smile widened briefly. Then, he continued.

"As I was saying, I approached Rita very slowly, reaching out to her with my right hand," he went on. He paused, looking at his right hand front and back, almost as though he'd never gotten a good look at it before. "As soon as I came too close, however…" He blinked, showing some remnants of the surprise he had felt at the time. "She _bit_ me," he finished, the traces of surprise also in his voice.

"_Good_ kitty," Lisbon commented.

Red John chuckled again. "Yes, _very_ good kitty," he agreed, nodding at Lisbon and still smiling, "not that my idiot adopted parents knew that. Both of them immediately pounced on her, the fools!" He laughed. "They started scolding her, spraying water in her face - everything they could possibly do to try to get Rita to realize that she wasn't supposed to do that…and somehow, amazingly, she actually received and seemed to even understand the message." A hint of what could almost be called awe crept into Red John's voice as he finished. "Somehow, her inferior animal brain managed to comprehend that my adopted parents didn't realize what she was able to somehow instinctively sense about me - that I needed to be _stopped_, before I could grow to adulthood - and so, acting with a rationale and valor comparable to that of a human being, she wormed her way through my adopted parents and attacked me."

"_Good kitty_!" Lisbon commented enthusiastically.

"Very," Red John agreed, nodding again. He chuckled. "It is fortunate for me - and unfortunate for the rest of the world - that my reflexes are so fast," he commented; "otherwise, she might have been able to claw my eyes out. As it was, she could only pounce on me and start sinking her claws and teeth into as much of me as possible, as deep as possible." He smiled and shook his head in what could have been called wonder. "A simple, domestic, female cat knew what I was even before I did, and tried to kill me," he said with something that resembled awe.

"_Very good kitty_!" Lisbon said emphatically.

"Indeed," Red John chuckled.

"So you killed her out of self-defense?" Lisbon asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

"No!" exclaimed Red John brightly, raising a finger. "That's the great irony of this story: I didn't kill her at all! In fact, I never even _hurt_ her!"

"So what happened?" asked Lisbon.

Red John laughed. "My adopted parents _saved_ me!" he answered, grinning with mirth. "They decided that, as parents, their first priority was to look after their son, so they had her put to sleep. The idiots!" He laughed again.

Lisbon was stunned. The world had nearly been saved from Red John by a _cat._ _Talk about truth being stranger than fiction,_ she thought.

"Ohh…" Red John sighed, his fit of laughter subsiding. "You know, sometimes I wonder if, in their last moments, either of my adopted parents thought back to Rita, and how they had killed the very creature that had tried to save them," he told Lisbon, his tone dripping with mockery as usual.

Lisbon just shook her head. What could she say?

Red John tilted his head. "Would you like me to put a flower on her grave for you, when this is over?" he asked her.

That got Lisbon to talk.

"What do you mean, her grave?" Lisbon asked.

Red John shrugged. "My adopted parents were idiots, but they meant well, and they truly did love that cat," he told her; "yes, they had her put down, but they also took her body back to our home and buried her, the way most people do when a beloved pet dies."

"Tell me where it is so I can put a flower there myself," Lisbon said, smiling cynically at him.

"I can't do _that_, My Dear," Red John chuckled; "if I told you where she was buried, you could eventually trace the location back to my adopted parents, and thus, to me…in the unlikely event that you ever leave this place alive, of course," he added nastily.

"I will," Lisbon said, managing to sound 100% convinced of it. "Patrick will save me."

"My Dear, it's been nearly a week and a half, and he still has no idea what he's even looking for," Red John said mockingly.

"He'll figure it out," Lisbon said matter-of-factly.

Red John smiled but didn't argue any further. "Regardless, after this is all over, would you like me to put a flower on Rita's grave for you?" he asked again. He paused, then he added, "A yellow asian lily, right? Just one, because the bunching of flowers in bouquets makes it harder to appreciate the beauty of each individual flower?"

Lisbon's jaw dropped, and she felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. "How the hell did you know…?" She couldn't even find the words to finish her question.

Red John's sinister smile widened scarily. "I know things, My Dear," he whispered, sending chills down Lisbon's spine. "I may not know literally _everything_, since that's impossible as each passing moment presents an infinite number of new facts, but I know enough…for _all_ intents and purposes." He laughed softly, and never had he seemed scarier to Lisbon than he did at that moment.

Lisbon gritted her teeth, closed her eyes, and swallowed, pushing back her fear; she wasn't going to let him break her this easily.

"Good-good for you," she finally managed to choke. She had meant to sound sarcastic, but she couldn't keep her voice from trembling.

Red John laughed again. "Farewell for now, My Dear Little Saint," he hissed; "I'll be back tonight."

And he walked away.

_Who the hell _is_ this freak?_ Lisbon wondered frantically.

~o~

More days passed, and still no headway. It was the afternoon before the 2-week anniversary of the first sunrise after Lisbon had been kidnapped, and her "dinner" injections were due in two hours. Her breath was coming hard, and she felt dizzy and lightheaded. Red John had cut up her back in a crisscross pattern, none of the cuts passing through another, and the pool of blood that surrounded her was wide and deep. It was a struggle for her to remain conscious, and her brain was barely able to work out the fact that she was dying.

It took her two whole minutes to register the fact that footsteps were echoing down the hallway (though the pain wasn't impairing her, the lack of blood certainly was). It took her all of her strength to force her eyes open and see Red John coming toward her. _This isn't right,_ formed the sluggish thought in her mind;_ it's two more hours until my next injections…_

"What're…you…doing…here?" Lisbon managed to gasp slowly as he crouched down in front of her, the effort causing spots to appear in her limited vision.

"Shh, My Dear," Red John said softly, holding a finger to her lips; "save your oxygen. You've lost a lot of blood."

Lisbon gasped, trying to work up the strength to respond, but her brain couldn't even come up with an answer. In fact, it took her a minute to realize that he was unclasping her shackles. Before she knew it, she was free. If only she had the strength to move…

"Relax, My Dear," Red John said to her, his tone soft and soothing. "You have my word, I won't harm you - not yet, anyhow."

She panted, trying to gather some strength…

"My Dear, I apologize," Red John said, his voice still soft and gentle; "this is going to seem invasive. You have my word, I'm only doing it to keep you alive."

_What-?_

Before the question could even form in Lisbon's mind, Red John, to her horror, pulled off her tank top and laid it over one leg so it wouldn't end up in the blood pool, not that that would have made much of a difference. He then proceeded - _Oh God!_ - to unhook her bra and take that off, too, so that her entire upper body was bare.

Lisbon started to shake, and adrenaline started pumping through her depleted veins. What scared her most, more than what he was doing, was the fact that she didn't have the strength to resist him, no matter what he was going to do next.

It was all she could do to remain conscious, in spite of the adrenaline pouring through her system. She watched, barely registering what she was seeing, as he put his knife in his mouth to free his hands and took out…another needle? Was that what it was? It wasn't like the needles he normally used on her…

He leaned over her, and she was lucky that she was too far gone for him to see in her eyes how utterly terrified she was. He lifted his left hand and placed his fingers on her neck, as though he was feeling her pulse, and he lifted the needle in his right hand, staring at her chest.

_What is he going to-?_

Suddenly, without warning, he plunged the needle into the left side of her chest, through her ribs, just beneath her breast.

She cried out involuntarily.

Quickly, Red John took the knife out of his mouth with his left hand and asked her, "Does that hurt, My Dear?"

"Yes!" she gasped.

"Good," he said, and somehow, it wasn't a sadistic-sounding response. "Is the pain constant or throbbing?"

The sharpness of the pain that stabbed through her chest seemed to pulsate with her heartbeat. "Throbbing," she managed.

"Good," Red John said again; "I didn't miss."

He pulled out a large vial of a dark, opaque liquid. Blood? Lisbon couldn't tell; her mind was too oxygen-deprived to make any sort of sense of what was happening. Red John put his knife back in his mouth, and he snapped the vial into a holder on the end of the needle that was sticking out of her chest with a barely-audible click. He then put his left fingers on her neck again, and he took hold of the needle in his right hand, placing his thumb on the - plunger? Had that been there before?

Minutes passed, and it was a while before Lisbon realized that Red John was actually pushing the liquid into her through the needle very slowly. It was almost too slow to be seen, but after five minutes, the vial was completely emptied into her. Then, he took out another vial and did it again…but _what_ was he doing?

After he emptied the second vial, he pulled the needle out of her chest wordlessly. Strangely, she felt no pain where the needle had been. He then proceeded to put her bra and shirt back on her - without touching her chest at all. Finally, he re-attached her shackles to her wrists, and he stood up.

"There now, My Dear," he said; "feel better?"

"I…" Lisbon blinked. Then, she blinked again. Her head was clear!

She looked up at him in confusion and what could be described as wonder. "Yes," she breathed, surprised.

"Good," Red John said with a strangely human smile, and he started walking away. "I'll be back soon to give you your regular injections," he called over his shoulder.

"Wait!" Lisbon called after him.

He stopped.

"What…What did you do?" she asked breathlessly.

He turned around. "As I said, you lost a lot of blood," he answered matter-of-factly; "you needed more." He shrugged. "So I gave you more."

"Whose?" she asked, a feeling of dread creeping up her spine.

He smiled, and his smile was back to being sinister and nasty. "Whose do you think?" he asked in a hiss.

"Not…" Her eyes widened as it dawned on her. Then, she shook her head, slowly at first, then more frantically. "No!" she exclaimed. "Not _yours_!"

Red John shrugged again. "There was no other blood available," he said simply. "Honestly, I never dreamed that you would last this long, so I didn't think to stock this place with a supply of extra blood when I built it." He smiled ruefully. "In spite of my caution, I still ended up taking something for granted," he said wistfully.

Lisbon looked at him, wide-eyed with horror.

Red John rolled his eyes. "It's just _blood_, My Dear!" he said with genuine exasperation. "It's not as though there's a part of _me_ in you now, not as a person! It'll be out of your system in a matter of days anyway."

"How…How much did you give me?" Lisbon asked, her horror fading to be replaced by…something else.

"As much as I could spare on short notice," Red John replied.

"I…You…" Lisbon was speechless. He would really do that? "Thank you," she finally managed, surprise and confusion evident in her voice - more than anything, she was surprised that she actually meant it.

"You're welcome," Red John replied, and his tone, by contrast, could almost be described as disgusted.

Then, he walked away.

~o~

When she was given her 'dinner' injections not long after, she didn't glare at him or say a word, and when he asked her to kiss him, she just said, "No", not particularly forcefully or spitefully. When sunrise came, and he cut her very low on her back, she didn't even flinch; she was too confused. When he bid farewell to Jane and started to walk away, she finally spoke.

"Red John," she said softly.

He turned around. "Yes, My Dear?" he asked, his tone strangely indecipherable.

She looked up at him, all trace of defiance, hatred, and anger completely gone. "Are you really this evil?" she asked him softly.

Red John blinked, then walked back over to her and assumed his usual position against the wall, though he seemed puzzled instead of his usual cool and calm. "I beg your pardon, My Dear?" he finally asked, his tone confirming that he was, indeed, puzzled.

"You keep saying you're a monster," Lisbon said softly, "but…are you, really? Are you really evil, like you keep saying you are? Do you really not feel any…remorse, for any of the things you've done?"

A slow, dangerous smile crept across Red John's face, and even through her vision blockers, Lisbon saw his eyes glint malevolently. "Let me see if I understand your question correctly," he said slowly; "you want to know if I have any…_regrets_? _True_ regrets? Memories that cause me physical pain to recollect? Things that have my lying awake in the middle of the night, wishing with all my might that I had done things differently? Things for which I feel true, sincere remorse? Is that what you wish to know?"

"Yes," Lisbon answered, soft but sure.

Red John's wicked smile widened. "Well, My Dear, as it just so happens, I do have _one_ such regret," he told her.

"What?" she asked him.

"Oh, I don't think you want to know," he teased. "You probably wouldn't be able to handle it."

"Try me," Lisbon told him, her tone still soft but strong.

Red John shook his head, enjoying leading her on. "No, I _really_ don't think you want to hear it," he said tauntingly. "The truth would _break_ you."

"Isn't that what you want?" Lisbon asked him softly. Before he could answer, she added, "If it's something you feel remorse for, it must be bad, I'm sure it is, but I want to know about it anyway." She looked at him pleadingly, a hint of desperation in her eyes. "I need to know you're human," she said.

"Then you _don't_ want to hear _this_," Red John replied in a malevolent hiss.

"Yes," she said, nodding slightly and sadly, "I do."

Red John grinned. "Very well," he hissed maliciously, "but remember this: _you asked_."

Lisbon nodded, and Red John chuckled evilly, as though all his twisted dreams were coming true at once.

"Well, My Dear," he began, "the night My Old Friend had the nerve to slander me in the media…" His expression darkened and his voice twisted with anger as he spoke. "I was very angry," he hissed. "In fact, I don't believe I've ever been so angry before in my life." Lisbon had no idea where this was going, but for some reason, she wasn't afraid.

"I saw red," he continued; "not that red isn't a lovely color, but I just never realized the expression was quite so literal. At any rate, I…" He hesitated with what appeared to be shame. "I lost control," he admitted. "The one and only time I ever lost control of my emotions was that night. It's fortunate for me that I was staking out his home anyway, otherwise I-"

"You were already staking out Patrick's home?" Lisbon interrupted. "Why?"

Red John smiled. "I was planning on killing his lovely wife anyway," he answered.

"Why?" Lisbon was shocked. Jane had always believed that Red John had murdered his family because of what he'd said that night, but if that wasn't true…

"My Old Friend was a fool," Red John told Lisbon. "He is _still_ a fool, but he was even worse of a fool back then. He was an arrogant, ignorant moron, and what was worse, he thought he would try to match wits with _me_. I would have taken more than enough offense to that, except that _he_ wasn't the one who wanted to do it." Red John's mouth twisted into a snarl as he continued. "_She_ was the one who sent him after me," he spat. "_She_ was the one who had the _gall_ to think that that _idiot_ could even _begin_ to help law enforcement catch me! _Him_! An arrogant fool, not even worthy to speak my _name_, and she had the _nerve_ to send _him_ after _me_!" He took a moment to compose himself - he was panting with rage. In fact, Lisbon was surprised by just how angry he was. "Unlike most of my victims, that bitch deserved what she got," Red John snarled after a minute.

"And…his daughter?" Lisbon couldn't help asking.

Red John shrugged, his composure completely restored in a matter of moments. "I honestly hadn't made up my mind about that yet," he replied. "I was planning on killing his lovely wife one week later than I actually ended up doing." He took a breath and continued.

"At any rate, I stormed to my Old Friend's home the instant he said what he did," he went on, "not knowing, or even _caring_, if I had time to do anything before he got there himself. All I knew was that I had to make him pay for his impudence. I broke into his home without any particular stealth - a first for me - and stormed right up to his sweet little girl's room…" He paused again. "And I did something so…_stupid_…I don't think I'll _ever_ be able to forgive myself…" He shook his head with genuine regret, and somehow, Lisbon could see that he was being completely sincere.

Suddenly, she was afraid to hear what his one regret was.

"It must have been the dumbest thing I've ever done," Red John said, still apparently too ashamed to say exactly what it was he'd done. Then, he paused, then slowly turned his head in order to look at Lisbon directly in the eye, his expression truly remorseful.

"I forgot to wake his daughter up before I killed her," he finished, his voice a menacing hiss.

Lisbon's eyes widened.

He sighed. "I never got to hear that little girl scream," he went on regretfully, "never got to see the fear in her eyes…A child's body is _so_ much more frail than that of an adult, and I _knew_ that, but I didn't think to soften my blows accordingly - she was dead before she even had a _chance_ to wake up."

Lisbon could only stare at him, utterly horrified. He felt _remorse_ for _not_ waking her up?

"But," he continued, an evil smile spreading across his face again, "whenever I can't sleep at night, thinking about what a stupid mistake I made, all I have to do is remember what happened next." His smile stretched a bit as he looked at her again and saw the horror on her face. "And since I've already told you the first part of this story, I may as well finish," he said nastily.

"As I said, I didn't enter very stealthily," Red John continued after a brief pause, "and my Old Friend's wife heard me. She thought I was him, so she didn't exactly come running. She arrived at the door mere moments after her daughter was dead…" He smirked, and his voice dropping once again to a sinister hiss. "And when she saw her little girl's horribly mutilated corpse, blood still dripping on the floor, and me standing over her, my knife still covered in blood…she _froze_ with horror." He shrugged. "Which is fortunate for me, as she had quite a fiery spirit…rather like you," he added, glancing back at Lisbon. "Had she been functioning at full capacity, she might have been able to hold me off for a few minutes; but as it was, she couldn't even lift a finger in her own defense." He grinned nastily. "She was still a good time, though," he commented. "I enjoyed her very much."

Lisbon was already too horrified to be disgusted.

"Now, I took extra time with her - to make up for time lost with her sweet little girl, you understand - and I was sure to tell her _exactly_ why I was there," Red John went on. "In spite of that, however, there was something in her eyes…" He tilted his head. "It was a bit of a killjoy at the time, but looking back, it just makes the memory that much more…_delicious_."

When he was silent for a minute, Lisbon somehow realized that he expected her to ask. "What?" she heard herself ask breathlessly.

Red John smiled, and the way he smiled Lisbon almost expected fangs to sprout from his lips. "_Hope_," he hissed. "She had _hope_. She _believed_ in My Old Friend. She believed that any minute, he would come bursting through the door to her rescue - and even when she _knew_ she was dead, and that no amount of medical attention could save her, she still believed that he would come home in time to catch me…that she wouldn't be dying in vain…that she would be helping him '_make the world a better place_'…" He laughed. Of course, Lisbon wasn't aware that that was what Jane's wife used to say to him, but she heard his mocking tone and registered that there was something significant about the phrase. "But he never came," Red John hissed. "I had _so much time_…I was able to set the scene, leave my mark, type up a note on his computer, print it off of his printer…even, on a sudden burst of inspiration, add a special touch of elegance _just for him_…" Lisbon knew he was talking about painting Jane's wife's toenails in her own blood. "…and I was still _long_ gone by the time he got home," Red John finished. "I had virtually all the time in the world, because he was having too much fun making money being a _big_, _stupid_, _liar_."

He laughed softly as he finished. Then, he turned to her and smiled his evil smile. "Does that answer your question, My Dear Little Saint?" he asked mockingly.

Lisbon was all but speechless. "_Monster_…" she breathed.

Red John raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked.

Suddenly, Lisbon's shock wore off, and she exploded.

"_You EVIL **MONSTER**__!_" she roared, and she lunged at him.

Her shackles stopped her before she could even get close to him, but she fought them with all her strength - just as Red John had been when Jane had insulted him, nothing was on Lisbon's mind except the drive to destroy the beast that was standing in front of her.

Red John's arched eyebrow raised a little higher. "You really shouldn't do that, My Dear," he said to her, cool as you please. "All the adrenaline and righteous anger in the world wouldn't help even the strongest person who ever lived so much as distend a single link of those chains. All you're going to accomplish is tearing your wounds open even further, and that will cause some…unnecessary complications."

Lisbon fell back, her glare as lethal as she could make it. "You're _damn_ lucky you thought to make these chains so strong, because otherwise I'd rip your head off with my bare hands!" she snarled.

"It's good to see the fire rekindled in your eyes, My Dear," Red John said with yet another smile.

Lisbon growled - actually _growled_, since words couldn't express what she was feeling. "You son of a _bitch_!" she spat furiously. "You evil, twisted _freak_! You…You…!" She struggled to find words for what he was. "You despicable, evil _monster_!"

"My Dear, I'm glad you're on vision blockers," Red John chuckled; "I think I might be blushing."

"You're a _monster_!" Lisbon ranted, more furious than she could ever remember being in his life. "You're the _worst_ thing that has _ever_ happened to this world! You…You're not even _human_! The devil himself couldn't _possibly_ be more evil than you!"

"My Dear, I'm touched!" Red John said, genuinely pleased. "I don't think I've ever been so flattered in my life!"

Lisbon glared daggers at him and bared her teeth. "When Patrick comes and saves me, he's going to kill you," she told him dangerously, "and I'm going to watch, and I'm going to enjoy it at least as much as he will." She clenched her fists. "You're the worst thing that _ever_ happened to this world," she continued darkly. "Whoever kills you should be hailed as a global hero. The day you die should become a worldwide holiday! I know _I'll_ celebrate."

Red John tilted his head. "My Dear, as flattering as I find your words, that sounds a bit dark for you," he said.

"It's not dark when it's celebrating the death of a _monster_!" Lisbon snapped.

Red John smiled. "Point taken," he said.

"Go to hell!" Lisbon spat.

"My Dear, if such a place exists, then when my time comes, I probably will," Red John said with a shrug.

"What do you mean, 'probably'?" Lisbon demanded.

"Well, unless I'm just so evil that the devil himself would love me and not want to punish me," Red John replied, smiling. When Lisbon had no response, his smile widened and he said, "You really are something. I thought the truth about me would break you, but instead, it's made you stronger. I _am_ impressed."

"Gee, thanks," Lisbon said sarcastically.

Red John's smile widened again. "You know what?" he asked. "I think you've earned a little control over your situation."

"Meaning what?" Lisbon asked cynically.

Red John tilted his head. "Meaning, I hereby give you my word that I will not kill you…until I break you first," he hissed.

"Good luck with that," Lisbon sneered.

"I don't need luck," Red John told her mockingly, "but thank you for wishing me well."

"Damn you to hell," Lisbon spat.

Red John laughed. "Farewell to you too, My Dear," he said, and he walked away.

~o~

He was, of course, back an hour and a half later to give her her 'breakfast' injections.

She accepted them, as usual, though her scorching gaze was more deadly than it had ever been before. When he was finished, though, she darted forward like a snake and bit Red John's right forearm, hard, smiling with satisfaction when she felt her teeth break through his skin.

He gasped in pain, then grimaced, took a deep breath, and calmly said, "Please let go of me."

Lisbon shook her head, causing her teeth, which had sunk into his flesh remarkably deep, to shift around inside his wounds, widening them slightly.

He made a small noise as he clenched his teeth, then took another breath. "Very well, then," he said, still calm (if slightly out-of-breath), and he jabbed his left thumb onto a pressure point on her neck, causing her jaws to snap open. She tried to bite down again right away, but he managed to pull himself free, and he did a rather elegant backward summersault away from her, coming to rest on one knee, apparently indifferent to the pool of blood he was squatting in.

Red John held his forearm out in front of him and stared at it, as though he couldn't really believe his eyes. He clenched and unclenched his hand slowly, watching as his blood dripped onto the floor to mix with Lisbon's. His expression was one of detached puzzlement, and even though Lisbon knew his wounds - both from her upper jaw and her lower jaw - were almost half an inch deep apiece, he didn't make any indication that he was in pain.

He looked at her, blinking slowly.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Lisbon exclaimed, somewhat intimidated by his apparent indifference to his wound.

"Yes," Red John replied in an odd tone of voice, "it does. Very much. I don't believe I've ever been in so much physical pain before in my life." He saw the look on her face and added, "Oh, you're confused because I'm not _indicating_ that I'm in pain?"

Lisbon nodded, aghast.

Red John smiled. "What difference would it make if I were to, say, gasp, or cry, or any such thing?"

"None," Lisbon replied faintly, "but that doesn't usually make a difference."

"True." Red John smiled again. "Fortunately, I know how to deal with pain. You see, My Dear, pain is the body's way of informing the brain that something is wrong. When most people are in pain, they try to block it, which in turn causes the signal to become stronger, as, evolutionarily, those who were unable to ignore pain were more likely to survive." Lisbon blinked, somehow actually absorbing this random biology lesson. "The trick is to acknowledge and accept the pain, to relax your mind and say to yourself 'Yes, I _know_ something's wrong', and it doesn't hurt nearly as much."

_Freak._

But he wasn't finished.

He tilted his head. "My Dear, I suppose I owe you some gratitude," he said.

"For what?" Lisbon asked, completely shocked by this.

"For giving me an opportunity to test something," Red John replied.

Before Lisbon could even begin to speculate what he could possibly mean by that, he took the handle of his knife in both hands and, to her complete surprise, unscrewed the bottom so that it came off. What came off was shaped like half an eggshell, and formed a small cup. Then, suddenly and bewilderingly, Red John brought the little cup to his lips and downed some sort of liquid that filled it. He then screwed the piece back onto his handle and moved towards her.

"Watch," he said softly, extending his forearm slightly.

Lisbon watched, transfixed, as Red John slowly clenched and unclenched his hand, watching the blood drip from the wounds on his arm. For a moment, nothing happened.

"Ah, there we go," Red John said suddenly, and as Lisbon watched, his wounds very slowly stopped bleeding. Then, to her complete amazement, she watched as the tears in his flesh flowed together and sealed up, leaving his arm completely unharmed.

Lisbon blinked, then looked up at him. "This is a trick," she said, desperate to believe her own words.

"If you don't believe your eyes, feel," he said, extending his healed forearm so that it was within her reach.

She glanced between him and his arm, and slowly reached out her left hand and touched him. She felt the wet stickiness of his blood still on his arm, but...

Red John smiled evilly as, tentatively at first, then more firmly, then _frantically_, Lisbon's hand searched his forearm in vain for bite marks.

She recoiled suddenly and stared at him, wide-eyed.

"What are you?" she breathed.

His smile was one the devil would wear. "I am many things," he hissed; "first and foremost, I am a monster, a living nightmare." He lifted his chin proudly, still smiling evilly. "I am Red John," he declared, giving the name so much more meaning than it bore superficially.

He laughed, and Lisbon decided she'd never heard a more chilling sound. A large portion of the fortitude she'd managed to gain from hating what she had realized him to be was negated by intimidation, and as he walked away, a chilling, terrifying thought filled her mind:

_Is there anything he _can't_ do?_

~o~

More days passed. Lisbon's second wind petered out much more quickly than her first one had. Four days after Red John's demonstration of his impossible ability to heal himself, Lisbon asked him something that had been especially bothering her since then.

"Red John?" she asked after her 'breakfast' before he started to walk away.

"Yes, My Dear Little Saint?" he replied, standing up and leaning against the wall.

"Okay, first of all, why do you call me that?" Lisbon asked him. This wasn't her original question, but she felt like she had to say something that implied that she was still strong.

"What, 'My Dear Little Saint'?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Yeah," Lisbon answered offensively, nodding slightly.

"'My Dear': a term of affection beginning with the word 'my' that I'm not currently using for anyone else; 'Little': you're five-foot-four; and 'Saint': well…" He smiled. "You know why I call you _that_." His run down of her nickname had been very brisk.

Lisbon blinked.

"My Dear, I give such names to everyone who is significant to me," he told her with a mocking shrug; "you needn't feel singled out."

"Everyone who's _significant to you_…" Lisbon repeated, making it half a question.

"My friends, mostly," Red John elaborated. "You and My Foolish Old Friend are the only real exceptions."

"And why do you call Patrick that?" Lisbon asked. "I've been here for two and a half weeks, and I've never once heard you call him by his name - _either_ name, first or last."

Red John's lips curled into a sneer. "I will not lower myself so far as to call that idiot by his name," he spat; "it would be far too degrading."

"Someone's full of himself," Lisbon muttered.

Red John smiled and tilted his head, "What else would I be full of?" he asked mockingly.

"I'm just saying it's a little hypocritical of you to hate Patrick for being arrogant when you have the biggest ego I've ever had the misfortune to come across," Lisbon said. "Seriously. I work, day in and day out, with Patrick Jane, and I have heard some pretty ridiculous things, but what you just said has got to be the most egotistical thing I have ever heard in my life."

Red John smiled again. "I am not _arrogant_, not per se," he told Lisbon; "I am _proud_. I am certainly far from humble, but I only allow myself as much pride as I deserve, not a bit more."

"And you think Patrick isn't worthy enough for you to even call him by his name," Lisbon commented sarcastically.

Red John rolled his eyes. "I don't expect you to take my side in the matter," he said. "Now, why don't you ask me the question you _originally_ had?"

"Okay," Lisbon said coolly. "'Red John'. Where'd you come up with that name? It sounds like the name of a washed-up rock star."

Red John chuckled. "To the simple-minded, I suppose it does," he said with a shrug. "I call myself that because…well, for one thing, red is my favorite color - the color of death."

"Isn't _black_ the color of death?" Lisbon asked, raising her eyebrows.

"By consensus, yes," Red John admitted, "but there are two problems with that, the first one being that black is, by definition, not a color."

"Technicalities, my ass," Lisbon muttered.

Red John smiled slightly at this. "You know, I've never understood that expression," he said thoughtfully.

"Whatever," Lisbon replied. "The second problem?"

"Well, it's not exactly a problem - more like an argument," Red John replied. "You see…Well, first of all, My Dear, what is the color of life?"

"Green?" Lisbon guessed.

"Yes, according to most, and not without significant reason," Red John answered, nodding. "Now, would you agree that death is the opposite of life?"

"Yes." Lisbon thought she was starting to see where this was going.

"So, if green equals life, and death is life's opposite, wouldn't green's opposite equal death?" Red John continued.

"Yes," Lisbon said again.

"And what is green's opposite?" Red John asked her.

"Red," Lisbon replied.

"Quite so," Red John said. "Therefore, wouldn't red be the color of death?"

Lisbon thought a moment, contemplating his logic. "Okay, _Socrates_, how about this?" she retorted after a minute: "In symbology, blood symbolizes life, and if blood equals life, and the color of blood is red, wouldn't that make red the color of life?"

Red John chuckled, and his chuckle was sincere and human-sounding. "You catch on fast," he commented. "Your quick wits and cleverness are really quite refreshing. I think I'm really going to miss talking with you once this is over."

"Well, maybe after Patrick saves me, you can call me sometime and we can do it again," Lisbon replied mockingly.

"In the highly unlikely event that that happens, I may just take you up on that," Red John said, smiling at her.

She nodded. "And the 'John' part?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Red John chuckled. "My Dear, did you know that the name 'John' means 'gift from god'?" he asked her.

"Is _that_ what you think you are?" Lisbon answered with a question, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

Red John chuckled some more. "Of course not, My Dear," he said with a hint of mock indignation, "you know me better than _that._ My friends, however, would swear to you that I _am_."

"You don't have friends, you have tools," Lisbon sneered at him.

Red John smiled widely. "Ah, my Old Friend's old mantra," he sighed amusedly. "He's half right - I do have people who are nothing but tools to me - but I also have people who are friends of mine, for lack of a better word."

"You have different _types_ of followers?" Lisbon asked incredulously.

"Oh, yes," Red John replied; "three categories, in fact. On the one hand, there are my pets, of which I've only ever had three. Todd Johnson was one of them." Lisbon sat back, getting the feeling that she was in for a very long-winded explanation of what kinds of people served Red John. "My pets are all male, and with the exception of Todd, they are spineless sadists."

"'Spineless sadists'?" Lisbon repeated.

Red John shrugged. "Sadists who don't have the nerve to actually brutally murder anyone," he explained. "They are naught but tools to me, but they are perfectly well aware of that, and they don't care, because in return, I tell them about my kills, and give them all the gruesome details they crave."

"That's sick," Lisbon said flatly.

"Yes, they are, but that's what makes them useful," Red John replied with yet another smile.

"You said Todd Johnson was an exception?" Lisbon asked.

Red John nodded. "He had the nerve to kill people, but he wanted to be my apprentice." Red John chuckled. "He was an amateur who wanted to learn from a master. He was completely unaware that he was nothing but a tool to me until he had some time to think it over in his holding cell, and that's why he needed to be disposed of.

"Then, there are my zombies," he continued when Lisbon made no indication that she was going to say anything. "They are the women I've seduced and brainwashed. They are utterly mindless, have no sense of self, no free will, and will do whatever I ask of them unquestioningly." He smiled evilly at her and added, "One of them in particular caused you quite a bit of unhappiness."

"Rebecca," Lisbon whispered.

"Yes, Rebecca, the poor little thing," Red John said mockingly. "Do you know she actually _smiled_ at the friend of mine who poisoned her?"

"The _friend_ of yours?" Lisbon exclaimed, startled. "O'Laughlin wasn't in the CBI back then!"

"My Dear, did you _really_ think that Craig was the _only_ person in the Bureau who also happens to be a friend of mine?" Red John taunted. "If so, you couldn't possibly be more wrong." He laughed. "Craig wasn't even the only friend of mine on that _list_!"

"What?" Lisbon's mind moved very slowly to processing this information. "But…you sent an assassin…"

"I was playing along," Red John shrugged. "I like playing games with My Old Friend."

"The man Patrick killed-"

"Was one of my pets," Red John said, anticipating her question, "not one of my friends."

"Okay…" Lisbon said slowly. They had known for a long time that the man Jane had killed hadn't been the real Red John, but the fact that O'Laughlin hadn't been the only one on that very short list who was one of Red John's friends had some very disturbing connotations…

"I try to have fifty zombies at any given time," Red John finally added.

Lisbon's breath choked out of her lungs. "_Fifty_?" she exclaimed.

"Oh, I could have _hundreds_, if I wanted," Red John said casually; "fifty is simply the maximum number that I can tolerate. Quite honestly, they disgust me, but they're just useful enough to have around."

"But…what about…?" Lisbon could hardly think.

Red John smiled his evil smile. "Then, there are my friends," he went on in a sinister hiss. "Unlike my pets and zombies, they are all perfectly good, normal people. They have free will, minds of their own, lives, jobs…most of them have families, even. They do not suffer from any sort of pathology, they can be either male or female, I have not hypnotized or brainwashed them in any way…" His evil smile widened. "…and they would all _jump_ at the chance to kill and die for me."

"How can that be, if they're not crazy?" Lisbon asked.

"They are _deceived_," Red John hissed. "They all believe a…rather absurd story I've fed all of them. It's really quite pathetic, to be honest." He tossed his knife in the air, watching the light reflect off the spinning blade, and caught the point on his fingertip, balancing it there steadily. "It's amazing what you can make people believe, if you know when and how to say it," he went on. "They fall for it every time, but it still never ceases to amaze me." He flicked his index finger, causing his knife to spin a hundred and eighty degrees, caught the handle, twirled the knife around a couple of times, and went back to tossing it around absentmindedly.

"What do they believe about you?" Lisbon asked.

Red John chuckled, which she knew by then meant that she wasn't going to like the answer. "My Dear," he said by way of answering, "by now, I'm sure you've realized that I am…abnormally intelligent." He smirked. "The truth is, I am actually intelligent enough to save this entire world all on my own, and that is not an exaggeration. Any problem you could care to name that this world has - environmental, political, social, personal - I could design a cure for all of it. I could eliminate the need for doctors, lawyers, law enforcement officers, even governors. I could make this world perfect, if I wanted to." He shrugged. "I just don't _want_ to," he said, smiling, his voice very remindful of a snake. "I would much rather put my intelligence and resources toward spreading misery, pain, fear, and death." Lisbon didn't know if she believed him about his intelligence, but she definitely believed him about how he wanted to use it. Still, that didn't answer her question.

As though reading her mind, Red John added, "My friends, however, believe that I _am_ going to save this world…and that I kill people now because that's the only way it can happen."

"Yeah, yeah, 'without darkness, there is no light,'" Lisbon said, rolling her eyes, repeating Rebecca's words.

Red John chuckled again. "No, no, My Dear; while that _is_ true, and I _do_ very much believe that there must be two sides to every coin, that is not why I kill people - that's just the nonsense I feed my zombies. No…" He gazed at the glint of light off his knife blade. "The belief my friends hold is far more absurd than that."

"_More_ absurd?" Lisbon repeated.

"Oh yes," Red John said brightly, nodding and smiling. "You see, my intellect is essentially inhuman. What its true cause is is something I myself do not know, but what I tell my friends is that its source is…well, shall we say, not so pleasant."

"They think you kill people to make yourself smarter?" Lisbon asked incredulously.

"Closer, but no, it's a bit more ridiculous than that," Red John replied. "You see, My Dear, I tell my friends that the source of my intelligence is a demon living inside me. It gives me what I need to save this world, but in return…" He shrugged, then smiled nastily. "It has to be fed," he finished in a menacing whisper. "So every now and then, I let it take over my body and have its way."

Lisbon blinked. "So…let me see if I've got this straight," she said; "you're telling me that your friends think you're in some sort of symbiotic relationship with a demon?"

Red John laughed. "I know," he said; "absurd, isn't it? The idiots. It's amazing just how gullible people can be, it truly is."

"I thought you said that your friends were perfectly normal people," Lisbon said, raising her eyebrows.

"Well, I don't walk around telling people this story right out of the blue," Red John clarified. "I groom them first, of course, sometimes for years…but by the time I'm done with them, they'll believe any explanation I give them for what I do."

"I thought you said you didn't brainwash them," Lisbon said, her eyebrows straining to go higher.

"I don't _brainwash_ them," Red John said, "I simply make them see me as someone who can be looked up to and trusted unquestionably - I _earn_ their trust, through actions more than words." He smiled and added, "And that doesn't stop when they've joined my circle, either. My friends are not disposable. I do not harm them, or their families, no matter what the circumstances might be - and believe me, there have been times when it would have been _much_ easier for me to just kill them." He shrugged. "But I don't," he concluded, "because I know that my friends will know that I took the harder path just to avoid harming one of them, and their loyalty will be ever-more cemented by it."

"And how will they know that?" asked Lisbon mockingly.

Red John smiled yet again. "My friends, unlike my zombies, compose a network," he answered, "and, what's more, I never do anything behind their backs, or against their will for that matter. I always let them know what I intend to do before I do it, and if even one of them opposes me, I concede…though that's never happened."

"But…what about me?" Lisbon asked softly, her eyes wide.

"Well, this particular event wasn't exactly popular among them," Red John admitted. "Some of them were actually very opposed to me taking you, at first." He smiled wickedly at her. "I managed to bring them around eventually, though, although I know for a fact that many of them are actually hoping My Old Friend wins this game and saves you."

"And kills you," Lisbon pointed out.

Red John laughed very softly, and suddenly, it occurred to Lisbon that, if Red John was prepared for the event of Jane coming to her rescue, then he was probably prepared to do something to make it out alive himself.

"Perhaps," Red John said ominously in response to her statement, and she knew she was right.

There was a pause.

"My friends currently number one thousand, one-hundred-sixty-four and a half," Red John told Lisbon finally.

The math was done in Lisbon's mind without her willing it to. _1,215.5 people...the size of a small army._

_Wait a minute..._

"What do you mean, 'and a half'?" Lisbon asked.

Red John shrugged. "One of my friends, whose loyalty the rest of them will forever strive to emulate, is unfortunately incapacitated indefinitely due to a complication of something I had her do for me," he answered.

"Oh," Lisbon answered blankly; she had been given far too much to absorb for her to continue to pursue that particular inquiry.

There was another pause.

"Yes, My Dear, it's true," Red John finally hissed, reading her silence: "I have an army out there, ready, willing, and able to do my bidding, whatever it may be; and all of them have the skills and qualities needed to elude My Old Friend's detection. He could stand in a room full of them and not have the slightest idea. Some of my friends actually happen to be among those whom he considers to be friends of his own, and even a few of _your_ friends work for me." He leaned toward her menacingly. "I am _everywhere_. If you ever leave this place alive, don't think you're out of my reach, ever; _no one_ is safe from me."

With that, he laughed evilly and walked away.

~o~

Still more days passed. Red John had run out of places to cut Lisbon on her back and had started cutting up her legs, for lack of other 'safe' places to cut her, long ago. Now, when he brought her to use the bathroom - which she still needed to do in spite of being on an IV diet, though she hadn't needed to do anything but urinate for a while - he practically had to carry her. The morning came when she was one sunrise away from having three full weeks' worth of cuts, which was to number twenty-three. 'Breakfast' came and went. Then, after 'lunch', Red John spoke to her.

"You're mine, you know," he said softly.

Lisbon's head snapped up, and she looked at him, trying to muster defiance but only coming up with shaky denial. "What?" she asked him, wide-eyed.

"You're mine," he hissed; "you know that, don't you? My Old Friend isn't going to save you. You'll never leave this place alive."

"Patrick _will_ save me," she said, trying to sound confident but instead coming across as whiney.

Red John laughed, and his laugh was darker and more evil than it had ever been before. "My Old Friend has looked at the answer dozens of times, and he hasn't seen it," Red John hissed malevolently. "If he hasn't seen it by now, he's not going to, not ever."

"He _will_ see it!" Lisbon exclaimed, her desperation to believe her own words evident in her voice.

"Sixty-first time lucky, you think?" Red John asked, sarcasm oozing from his voice like an acid that was eating away at her psyche. When she didn't respond, he continued, "No. You're mine. You're going to die here…under my knife…under _me_…" He smiled, his pleasure at the thought showing in his expression. "You belong to me, My Dear Little Saint Teresa," he whispered, reaching out and running the flat of his blade along her cheek, the way one would caress the cheek of a lover with one's hand. "You should just accept it. It will make it easier for everyone."

Lisbon shook her head, trying to fight the pull of his words and tone. "No," she said, the word coming out as half a sob. "No. Patrick will save me."

"My Dear, I would tell you to keep telling yourself that, but the fact of the matter is that, by doing so, you're hurting, not only yourself, but him as well," Red John said in a mock-soothing voice. "I told you, I won't kill you until I break you. You've lasted a long time - far longer than I thought possible - and you should be proud of yourself for that. You've done a very impressive job." He leaned closer to her. "But it's time to give in," he whispered softly. "It's time for you to make your peace with death. It will make it easier for everyone."

Lisbon was shaking, his words battering away at the last of her iron-clad resolve. She clenched her fists, fighting back tears…and played the last card she had.

"W-wanna bet?" she asked him, struggling not to cry.

Red John smiled. "I'm assuming that's a rhetorical question, as you have nothing to bet with," he replied.

"No," she said, forcing herself to smile. "There is one thing."

"Like what?" asked Red John mockingly. "If you lose, I'm going to kill you; what else could you possibly have?"

"First, tell me what you're willing to bet," Lisbon replied, her strength no less wavering. "Show me yours, and I'll show you mine."

Red John smiled again and stood up. "Very well," he said slowly, leaning against the wall in front of her. He thought for a minute. "If you win…well, you'll live, but you'll be severely traumatized, physically and mentally. So how about this: If you win, and _if_ I like what you have to offer, then you have my word that I will not kill again until you've fully recovered. Fair enough?"

Lisbon nodded gravely; it was a very generous offer, and she knew he was making it because he believed that she had nothing to offer him in turn.

He was wrong.

"Okay," she said softly. "And if you win…" She trailed off and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to summon the strength to lay down the last thing she had left. "If you win…" she said at last, looking up at him, "…I'll kiss you."

Red John blinked, and she knew she'd caught him by surprise. She also knew he couldn't resist - her free will was the one thing that he wouldn't have been able to take had she not made such an offer.

"I…accept," he said, his words soft and heavy with malice.

Lisbon nodded, and the deal was done.

"Just when I thought things couldn't get any better," Red John whispered, almost to himself, and he walked away.

~o~

Night came and went, and at sunrise, Lisbon received her twenty-third cut.

"You'd better hurry up, Old Friend," Red John commented to Jane when he was done; "I'm running out of places to cut her." He hung up before Jane had a chance to respond.

Lisbon was falling apart. She knew it, and she tried to stay strong, but she was crumbling. She lasted through 'breakfast' and 'lunch', but then 'dinner' came.

Red John gave her her injections, as usual, and when he was done, he said, "There you are, My Dear." Then, he stood up and started walking away; it was the second night he had done so since the beginning when he hadn't asked her to kiss him, the first having been the night before. The five words he did say were the words he always said, and the words themselves weren't particularly threatening…but just the sound of his voice was enough. He spoke - that brief, five word sentence - and she felt something inside her break. She struggled to hold on, and she lasted a few more moments, but Red John wasn't even halfway across the room when she spoke, unable to hold on any longer.

"Kill me," she whispered.


	4. Part 4: Bloodbath

Slowly, ever so slowly, Red John turned around.

"I beg your pardon, My Dear?" he asked, slowly and deliberately, a chilling smile creeping across his face that couldn't affect Lisbon anymore.

"Kill me," she said again, looking up at him. "Kill me, please. Please! Please, why haven't you killed me already? Please just kill me, please! Please, I can't take it anymore!" She started crying. "I can't take it anymore, please! Kill me! _Please_!" she sobbed. "Please, I just want this to be over! I can't do this anymore - please, _please_, _kill me_!" She broke off into uncontrollable sobbing.

Red John made a soft noise, something between a sigh and a moan of desire, and stalked toward her.

"Please," she sobbed again, almost inaudibly.

Red John slowly knelt down in front of her, gazing at her with an intensity that would have frightened her if she hadn't been so far gone.

She shook with the force of her silent sobs, and a tear leaked out of her left eye and ran down her cheek.

"Mmmmm," Red John moaned softly, and he leaned forward, set his knife down on the floor - which was the first time Lisbon had ever seen him set it aside completely - took her head in his hands, and licked her tear off her cheek.

Lisbon shuddered, trying and failing not to whimper.

"_Mmmmmm_," he moaned again, louder now, as her defeat and despair aroused him. "_Yes_," he hissed, his voice twisted with pleasure. "_Yes_. Look at me." He turned her face toward him, and his gleaming, malevolent eyes met her tear-filled, empty ones. "Oh,_ yes_," he rasped. "_Yes_…If that's what you want…it would be my…_pleasure…_to give it to you…" His smile was vicious, that of a predator who had cornered its prey, as he ran his fingers down her cheek, her neck, her chest…

"Well," he said suddenly, abruptly snatching his hand away from where it had started to touch her left breast, "we'll save that for later, shall we?" His smile stretched nastily, and he picked up his knife and stood up, turning away from her, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out her cell phone.

~o~

It was twilight, and Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt walked into the office area to find Jane lying on his couch, staring at the ceiling.

"Patrick?" asked Van Pelt.

Jane glanced at the three of them. "Hey," he said listlessly.

"What're you doing?" asked Rigsby, not unkindly.

"Thinking," answered Jane. "I was hoping I would know what I was looking for when I saw it, but since I obviously won't, I'm…" He sighed. "I'm trying to figure out what I'm missing," he said at last.

"Oh," said Van Pelt. "That's…good…"

Jane had barely opened his mouth to respond when his phone rang.

Everyone's eyes widened with dread. Jane checked the caller ID.

Lisbon.

He looked at his friends, and his expression was more than enough to tell them that what they all feared was true.

"Put him on speaker," Van Pelt said softly. "You shouldn't have to do this alone."

Jane stood up, turned on the speaker phone, and answered the call as his friends gathered around him.

"Hello?" he asked.

~o~

"Good evening, Old Friend, I have excellent news!" Red John exclaimed brightly in response. "The game's almost over!" He chuckled, then hissed, "Consider this your 24-hour warning."

"Let me talk to him," said Lisbon softly.

"Oh, hold on, Old Friend, I think My Dear Little Saint has something she wants to say to you," Red John said quickly, before Jane could say anything, and he held out the phone to her.

"Teresa-"

"Patrick, I'm sorry!" Lisbon cried, tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry!"

"Teresa, there's nothing to be sorry for," Jane said firmly.

"I'm sorry," Lisbon sobbed again, as though Jane hadn't spoken; "I just…I can't take it anymore!"

"No," Jane said softly, horrified. "No, no, _no_, Teresa, don't do this, don't give up on me!"

"_Too late_," Red John sang.

"Shut up, you!" Jane snapped.

"No, Patrick, he's right," Lisbon sniffled. "I'm sorry, he's right." She shook her head. "I'm sorry," she sobbed yet again; "I know you did everything you could to try to save me…" She broke off and cried a little.

"Teresa-"

"I need you to promise me something," Lisbon managed, interrupting him. "Do you…Do you remember the time you made me think I was dying of a supervirus?"

"Teresa, don't-!"

"Do you remember?" she cried.

"_Yes_!" Jane answered.

"Okay…" She sniffed, and her voice softened. "Do you remember…what I asked…Kimball to do for me?" she asked. "My dying requests; do you remember?"

"Yes, but-"

"I need you to do that for me," she said softly, still managing to cut him off. "And…even more importantly…" She looked up at Red John. "I need you to promise me…_promise me_…that you…won't blame yourself…for this." Tears welled in her eyes again. "This wasn't your fault," she sobbed. "It's _never_ your fault. It's _his_ fault. It's _always_ his fault." She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face. "Promise me…" she whispered.

"Teresa, I am not going to promise you anything of the kind because I don't need to because you are not going to die!" Jane shouted in one breath, frantic. "I'm going to save you!"

"No you're _not_!" Lisbon cried. "He says you've looked at the answer dozens of times and you haven't seen it!" She sobbed some more. "It's okay," she said weakly, "I know you tried…"

"This is _not_ over, Teresa!" Jane told her firmly, trying to hide his panic. "I _am_ going to save you!" He sighed, then added, "And after I do, and you're back, and everything's gone back to normal, I am going to make fun of you for this for the rest of your life, because right now you are whining like you're five years old!"

Lisbon laughed weakly through her tears, recognizing that he was trying to comfort her by giving her a little reminder of normalcy. "Patrick," she said softly, smiling, "thank you. So much. For everything." She shook her head, smiling and crying at the same time. "You were the best thing that ever happened to me," she sobbed, still smiling.

There was silence over the line for a moment as Jane tried to get ahold of himself. She couldn't see it, but she could imagine him shaking his head slightly, his lip trembling as he fought not to cry.

"You know I'm never going to let you live that one down," he said in a rush, afraid that he would break if he opened his mouth for too long.

She laughed again in spite of herself.

"How very touching," Red John said mockingly, ruining the moment. "I suppose if I were capable of it I'd be getting very teary-eyed right now." He smiled evilly. "Fortunately for everyone involved, I'm not capable of it," he went on, snatching the phone out of Lisbon's range. "That's quite enough for now," he said as he did so; "the two of you can finish saying your goodbyes the next time I call. And, Old Friend," he added, lifting the phone to his ear, "if you have _any_ intention of keeping your promise…" He smiled malevolently. "You had better hurry," he hissed, and he hung up.

He stared at the phone in his hand for a minute, then turned to Lisbon.

"My, my," he said to her mockingly, "My Old Friend has quite an effect on you, doesn't he? Barely two minutes on the phone with him, and already, a spark has been rekindled in your eyes." He turned and walked away. "See to it that it's gone by the time I return…for _everyone's_ sake," he said nastily over his shoulder.

Lisbon said nothing. What Red John had said was true, though - she _did_ have a bit of life in her again, if only a bit.

~o~

Jane stood, eyes closed, phone in hand, fighting the urge to cry.

"Patrick?" Van Pelt said softly after a minute, her own eyes wide.

Jane said nothing. Then, he turned back toward his temporary office and started purposefully walking away.

"Patrick!" Van Pelt said, stepping in front of him.

He glared at her. "Get out of my way," he said coldly.

Van Pelt swallowed nervously. "Patrick…" she began, tears welling in her eyes. "Maybe…Maybe you should-"

"What?" Jane demanded. "Give up? Is that what you think I should do?"

"I…" Van Pelt looked like she was going to cry. "I don't…Maybe you just…Maybe it just can't be done," she finally managed.

"It _can_ be done," Jane told her angrily, "and it _will_ be done. I _will_ save her." And he shouldered past her.

"Patrick, I don't think-" she began, grabbing his arm, but he shook her off without looking at her and stormed away.

Van Pelt watched him go sadly. Then, she turned to the others.

None of the three of them spoke.

~o~

Jane threw open the door to his new office, then slammed it behind him. He had drawn the curtains on the windows, including the windows on the door, so he was finally alone.

He walked over to the table where the papers lay, some in neat piles, others scattered about. He sighed, then started flipping through a stack that was in the box. At first, he actually looked at the papers he was going through, but he started going through them faster and faster without looking at them until he picked up the box and, with a roar of frustration, threw it against the wall, scattering papers everywhere. Then, with more grunts of frustration and anger, he furiously shoved all the papers off the desk. Finally, his outburst done, his anger spent, he collapsed into his chair, put his face in one hand, and started crying.

~o~

Lisbon didn't think even fifteen minutes passed before she heard Red John return (and she was right).

She looked up at him. "Is it time already?" she asked softly.

"No, not yet," Red John replied with a smile; "you've many hours left still."

Lisbon nodded as Red John grabbed his chair and pulled it up in front of her. "So why are you here?" she asked as he sat down.

He smiled, tossing his knife around as usual. "I wanted to ask you something," he answered her. "May I?"

"Go ahead," she said listlessly.

His smile widened. "I was just wondering," he said; "what's the worst part about dying here, for you?"

"Huh?" Lisbon blinked at him, not understanding his question.

He shrugged. "What do you miss the most?" he asked. "I mean, if there was one thing you'll never have - or never have again - that you would like to have right now, before you die here, what would it be? Your friends? Your job? Sunlight?"

"Sunlight?" Lisbon repeated questioningly.

Red John smiled nastily. "You'll never see the sun again, you know," he told her. "Is that what you would miss the most, if you were able to feel anything after you die?"

"What's this light here?" she asked, gesturing with her head at the ceiling.

"Simulated sunlight," Red John answered; "it provides all the same benefits as actual sunlight, but it's not at all real." He leaned forward. "_Is_ real sunlight what you would miss the most?" he asked her. "Or would it be…something else?"

Lisbon chuckled humorlessly. "Knowing you, you probably already have a guess," she said.

"I do indeed," Red John replied with yet another smile.

"Well?" Lisbon asked.

Red John's smile stretched again. "I think…that the worst part about dying here, with me, for you…" His voice dropped to a menacing hiss, as it was wont to do. "…is that you'll never get to see My Old Friend again," he finished. He sat up straight again, and his voice went back to "normal". "Am I correct?" he asked.

"Does it matter?" Lisbon asked in return.

"It might," Red John answered.

There was a pause.

"…Maybe," Lisbon finally answered his question. "Why?"

Red John smiled his vampire smile again. "Well, what if I offered to fix that for you?" he asked sinisterly.

"What?" Lisbon asked, confused.

"What if I offered to let you see him, right now?" Red John asked.

Lisbon smiled faintly. "I would say, 'Why would you do that?'" she answered.

Red John's smile stretched again in amusement. "My Dear, to be clear, I am not speaking hypothetically," he hissed, "and I would do that…" He paused for effect. "…because he's given up," he finally finished.

"Patrick?" Lisbon asked.

Red John nodded.

Lisbon laughed nervously. "You're lying," she said, sounding surprisingly confident.

"Oh, no, it's true," Red John assured her. "He's got his head in his arms right now, and he's crying like a baby, knowing he can't save you-"

"You're _lying_!" Lisbon shouted, cutting him off. "Patrick Jane doesn't cry, and he never, _ever_ gives up!"

"Would you like me to prove it to you?" Red John asked her maliciously.

"I'd like to see you _try_!" she countered.

Red John's grin was chilling. "As you wish," he hissed, and he got down in front of her.

Lisbon was used to the routine that came before Red John took her somewhere, so she was still as he pulled her shackles open and clasped the handcuffs around her in their place. He took her left arm - the only limb he hadn't cut - and pulled up gently. She got up, slightly relying on him for balance and support. When she rose, she took a step forward, and he started walking with her, holding onto her arm.

Before she took two steps, however, he put his head next to hers and gently bit her ear.

She closed her eyes, fighting back a shudder - the touch was suggestive in nature.

He smiled, though she couldn't see it. She didn't need to.

Then, they started walking.

This time, Red John led Lisbon to the left - the direction from which he always came to her - instead of to the right, where he normally led her. Lisbon saw one or two doors in this branch of the hallway, but they stopped at the first door on their right.

Lisbon stood still as he opened the door, as she always did, though it was a struggle to remain standing with all the cuts on her legs.

Red John opened the door, then he took her arm again and led her inside.

She gasped. She couldn't see perfectly because of the vision blockers, but what she _could_ see about her surroundings rendered her breathless.

They were in a surveillance room. Monitors covered all four walls, some tilted so that they also covered the ceiling, from waist height up. What was really astonishing was the fact that she recognized each and every place depicted in the monitors as being places in CBI HQ.

She turned to Red John, and he smiled.

It was hopeless. She knew it, right then and there: The CBI would _never_ be able to catch Red John. He was too powerful. He had the entire Bureau on constant surveillance, and lord only knew what else he could do.

Wordlessly, Red John gestured to the monitor that was directly across from the door. She turned to it. It was bigger than the others, clearly the main monitor. A cushioned chair was positioned in front of it, and Lisbon could easily picture Red John reclining in that seat, observing the entire Bureau, the world at his fingertips…

Then, she managed to absorb exactly what the screen depicted.

She couldn't see colors, but she was able to make out a man in a suit with curly hair, and she knew that figure anywhere. _Jane!_

He was sitting at a desk in a room full of papers that covered the floor; it looked like a small whirlwind had gone through the room, only the desk was bare. No, wait, there was one paper on the desk, but it was precariously close to the upper right-hand corner, hanging off the edges. Jane was sitting down…his head in his arms on the table. She couldn't tell for sure, but it looked like he was shaking.

She froze. _No._

"You know what? My Old Friend is being _incredibly boring_ right now," Red John said all of a sudden, stepping forward, as she stood rooted to the spot. "Let me show you what happened eight minutes ago."

Lisbon watched, transfixed, as Red John twirled his knife around, then stuck it into what would have looked like a control panel had there been anything on it. He twisted his knife, though Lisbon didn't hear anything, and then he slid his fingertips across a section of the metal surface in what appeared to be a random pattern. It obviously wasn't random, however, because a moment later, the screen did a quick rewind - too fast for Lisbon to see - and suddenly, Jane was at the door to the room he appeared to have been working in, and all the papers were back on the desk.

The image held still, and Red John turned to her and smiled.

"My Dear," he said, "you have my word, this video shows the truth, and nothing else. This is what My Old Friend did, eight minutes ago."

And he tapped a spot on the metal surface.

Lisbon and Red John both turned to the screen, and Lisbon watched, horrified, as Jane started going through papers in the box that she recognized as Red John's case file, then threw a small tantrum, scattering papers everywhere, sat down at the now-almost-bare desk, put his face in his hand, and started crying.

"_Nooo_!" Lisbon shrieked, running forward and slapping her hands against the screen as though she could reach out and touch him, oblivious to Red John's evil laughter. "No, no, Patrick, don't cry, _please_ don't cry!" she begged, tears pouring down her face.

Lisbon felt as though she was crumbling inside as Jane collapsed even further, laying his head in the crook of his elbow on the desk and pounding on the wood once with his fist, shaking with tears.

Red John smiled, then tapped something on the metal surface that somehow served as a control panel. The screen jumped, and Lisbon was able to somehow register that they were back to watching Jane in real time. Red John then twisted the knife back in the direction opposite the way he had turned it before, pulled it out, took hold of Lisbon, and dragged her away from the screen, leaving her bloody handprints behind.

Lisbon shattered. The difference between her breaking fifteen minutes before and what was happening to her now was the difference between a branch breaking off a tree and a glass vase being thrown hard against a boulder. Red John was holding her up, her arms still outstretched toward the screen that depicted Jane's defeated form.

Red John smiled predatorily at Lisbon as she shook and cried. He looked between the two crying, defeated forms. "This may be the best day of my life," he commented. Then, his voice became guttural as he added, "I can hardly _wait_ to express how I'm feeling right now!"

Some part of Lisbon's mind registered that he was talking about what he was going to do to her, but she was so numb with despair that it didn't affect her at all.

Red John was still looking at Jane. He tilted his head, then leaned toward the screen, releasing Lisbon, and squinted.

"Well, look at that," he said, straightening after a minute and smiling; "the poor old fool has cried himself to sleep." He laughed.

Lisbon sank to her knees, utterly defeated. Red John ignored her, seeming to drink in the sight of Jane's suffering.

Then, suddenly, his expression changed, in a way that Lisbon couldn't quite read.

"Wait a minute…" he muttered, stepping closer to the screen, his brow furrowing with interest. He stuck his knife back in the…whatever it was, then tapped something on the metal surface that was somehow touch-sensitive. Lisbon wasn't able to see what happened as a result, but Red John pulled his knife back out and stepped back.

"Well, how about that…" he said softly, almost to himself. He turned and walked back to her. "My Dear, do you see that one piece of paper that remains on his desk?" he asked her, pointing to the paper he was speaking of.

Lisbon could only nod.

"Well," Red John said, crouching down to her level beside her and smiling, "that paper just so happens to be where I hid our location."

Lisbon's head snapped in his direction.

Red John smiled at her. "All he has to do is _look up_," he told her, "and he can save you." He chuckled. "But he won't," he went on. "He's given up, the poor fool." Red John's smile was sickening. "This is so beautiful," he mused, almost to himself. "The irony here is almost poetic."

Lisbon was silent. She couldn't have spoken if she'd wanted to.

For a minute, everything was still.

"Have you seen enough, My Dear Little Saint?" asked Red John at last.

Lisbon didn't even nod.

Red John smiled again, then half-helped, half-lifted her to her feet, and led her back to her corner.

He had put her back in her shackles, and was walking away, when she finally spoke.

"Red John," she said, ever so softly.

"Yes, My Dear?" he asked, turning back towards her.

She looked at him, her expression unreadable. "You won," she said in an indecipherable tone of voice.

Red John's evil smile widened. "Yes I did," he said.

"No, I mean…" Lisbon closed her eyes, as though trying to steady herself. "You won the bet," she said at last.

Red John's eyes widened with surprise.

"Come again, My Dear?" he asked her, not daring to believe his ears.

"You won our bet," Lisbon said again, starting to cry, as she looked back up at him. "And…" Her voice cracked. "I'm willing…to pay up…now."

For a minute, Red John was still.

"My Dear," he began slowly at last, "while I…appreciate…your commendation…you haven't truly lost quite yet-"

"Don't toy with me!" Lisbon snapped, tears streaming down her face once more and mixing in with the blood she was constantly bathing in. "You said you could hardly wait to express how you're feeling! I'm giving you a chance to take the edge off the wait! Don't pretend you don't want me to!"

Red John paused. "Are you sure?" he asked her slowly after a moment.

Lisbon said nothing through her sobs, helpless to stop the tears that were pouring from her eyes…eyes that answered his question silently.

Speechless, Red John stalked towards her, then crouched down in front of her so that they were barely inches apart. Then, he was still.

Lisbon met his gaze tearfully. Then, she leaned forward…and kissed him.

And what little was left of her spirit shattered.

The kiss was not romantic in the least - on the contrary, both of them knew, and could feel, that what little was left of Lisbon was being sucked out of her as it went on…and on…

At last, they broke apart. Then, Lisbon fell back against the wall and started crying.

Red John smiled. "You're mine," he said softly.

And she spoke the word that signed her death warrant.

"Yes."

And she was gone.

Red John laughed. "I'll be back soon," he told her "…For what's left of you," he added nastily.

And he walked away.

Alone now, Lisbon was shaking with silent sobs, really doing nothing but convulsing with misery. Everything that made her Teresa Lisbon: her memories, her personality, her spirit - all of it was gone. All that remained was misery, and defeat, and despair, and helplessness, and pain, all bundled up in a lump of flesh and blood. She was a miserable, empty shell.

Teresa Lisbon was worse than dead.

~o~

Van Pelt was pacing back and forth silently, her two teammates watching wordlessly.

"I feel so helpless!" she finally exclaimed, frustrated.

"There's nothing we can do," Rigsby said listlessly.

"It's up to Patrick," said Cho.

Van Pelt let out a frustrated groan, still pacing.

Then, she stopped.

"I can't just wait around here and do nothing," she said, and she started walking away.

"Hey!" Rigsby called after her. "Where're you going?"

Van Pelt stopped and turned back to them. "I'm going to go and do the only thing I can do," she told them: "I'm going to find a quiet, empty room, and I'm going to pray." She looked between the two of them for a moment before adding, "And you two can either laugh at me, join me, or sit here and do nothing."

She left. Rigsby stood up. "I'm going with her," he said.

"Me too," said Cho, standing up too, and they followed her.

~o~

Jane awoke to the sound of someone opening the door behind him.

He jumped, startled. Then, he stood up and turned around…only to see Bosco glaring at him.

"You really screwed this up," Bosco told him scathingly.

Jane's shoulders sagged. "I haven't given up," he told Bosco. "I…guess I cried myself to sleep."

"Yes you did," Bosco said mockingly, nodding. Then, "Come on, Jane! Get it together! It's not that hard! Look, the answer's right in front of you!" He pointed to the desk Jane was working at.

Jane turned. There was one piece of paper still on the desk. He reached over and picked it up…

~o~

Red John sat down in his chair, ready to watch the grand finale. Well, killing Teresa was going to be the _grand_ finale, but still.

Hours passed, and the sun rose, with little to no developments. In fact, everything was rather boring. That was okay. Teresa's despair, and her kiss, had been more than enough to satisfy him for the time being. It occurred to him that, since she was already broken, the actual killing part might not be as much fun. No, he decided, that wasn't the case; just because he'd broken her before killing her - which was a first for him - didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy her being broken when the time came.

He laughed when Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt decided they were going to go pray._ Please,_ he thought. _Where was your "God" when I was born?_ He smiled, very amused. Surely, there was no such thing as God, not if _he_ had been able to come into being - what sort of "God" would let _him_ happen to the world? No, it was certain that there was no divinity watching over the world. _And no such thing as justice,_ he thought smugly.

He watched as Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt found an empty interview room, kneeled in a line against the back wall, and clasped their hands together. He listened to Van Pelt recite the Lord's Prayer out loud. He watched the three of them say "amen" at the end, and Rigsby add, "Especially the 'deliver us from evil' part." Red John smiled again at that. _Yes, deliver you from evil,_ he thought amusedly; _a__s sweet Saint Teresa said, even the devil himself could not _possibly_ be more evil than I._

"Dear Lord," said Van Pelt after they were done, "we ask that you please give our friend, Patrick Jane, the strength and clarity he needs to find and rescue our boss and dear friend, Teresa Lisbon, from Red John."

"She doesn't deserve to have this happen to her," added Rigsby. "She's the best boss I've ever had, and she gets it done, and she gets it done right."

Cho, naturally, said nothing.

The three knelt in silent prayer for a minute.

Red John chuckled. Talk about desperation! This was beautiful in his eyes.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Red John saw Jane stir on another screen.

Red John turned and narrowed his eyes. What was His Old Friend going to do?

~o~

Jane roused himself and looked up. He remembered his dream. Quickly, his eyes scanned the desk, and he found that, just like in his dream, there was one piece of paper still there.

Quickly, Jane grabbed it.

~o~

Red John saw Jane grab the one piece of paper on the desk, and he leaned forward. This was the moment of truth.

Jane scanned the page, first one side, then the other. Then…he tossed it aside with a huff of frustration.

Red John sat back and laughed. _Victory is officially mine._

~o~

Jane scanned the page. Nothing.

With a grunt of frustration, he tossed the seemingly useless piece of paper aside.

He looked at the floor, and the papers that covered it.

_Might as well get back to work,_ he thought resignedly. He got out of his seat, crouched down, and started gathering papers in his hands.

He had a pile straightened out, and was about to stand up to put it on the desk, when he had a sudden thought.

It was a crazy thought. It was an _absurd_ thought. _It couldn't possibly be _that_ simple,_ he told himself; _Red John would do something_ much_ more elaborate than that._

_...Wouldn't he?_

Jane remembered Red John's words. _"Creativity is overrated. What really matters is effectiveness."_

The papers slipped from Jane's hands as his grip on them went slack. For a moment, he squatted where he was, not moving. Then, all at once, he stood up, turned around, and lurched in the direction he had thrown the piece of paper he had just dismissed. He landed gracelessly on his stomach on the floor, and immediately, he started frantically digging through the papers that covered it, trying to find the one he had just discarded.

After several frantic minutes, he found it. He stared at it for a minute, wild-eyed, his eyes jumping across the page as he tested his theory. He stood abruptly, not taking his eyes off the paper. Then, he slapped it down on the desk and ran out of the room to grab a piece of blank paper and a pen.

~o~

Red John watched as Jane grabbed supplies, and started writing down the message Red John had encoded into that one slip of paper.

_Well, well…_

Red John stood. He had to prepare for his guest.

He wouldn't be needing the monitors anymore, but he left them on, just in case Jane decided to look around - it was time, he decided, for His Old Friend to have a better idea of what he was _really_ capable of. Then, he stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him. He walked right across the hall and into his closet.

There stood the dresser. The chemical bath that completely obliterated any organic material had finished weeks ago, and his hunting costume, as it had been dubbed by his friends, would be perfectly clean.

He smiled. Even though he wasn't going to kill, donning his hunting costume was always thrilling.

He quickly undressed and set his plain clothes on the table; he wouldn't be needing them anymore, either. He opened the right side of the wardrobe, revealing the many drawers that held most of the pieces of his costume.

First, he put on the underwear that was like black silk, almost liquid, and fitted like a second skin, sheathing his loins. He wouldn't be needing that one function in this particular instance - _Which is a shame,_ he thought to himself briefly - but it was part of the outfit, and indispensable.

Next the black pants, which looked deceptively normal. He knew better, but it was always worthwhile to make sure he was underestimated as much as possible; it kept his enemies guessing. The only thing that showed that they were unique was the metal of the button and zipper, though even that would reveal nothing without close inspection; the metal was black - not tarnished or painted, the metal _itself_ was black.

Then his black socks, made of the same material as the underwear. He kept each individual article separate in his wardrobe, so he had to open one drawer for each sock.

Then came the black boots, which, like his pants, looked deceptively normal. They were heavy, combat-style boots that were tall enough to come up over his ankles. The soles appeared to be black rubber, but in reality, they were made of a material he had invented himself which added an extra spring to each push-off from the ground, making him faster and able to jump higher and further than he would have been able to naturally. He laced them up, then pulled his pants legs over them. The lacing and buckles, like everything else, were black.

Next came the belt. He didn't really need it, but he had his vain moments. The belt itself was actually really nothing special - just a normal strip of black leather. The buckle, however, was silver - the only part of his costume that wasn't pitch black - and was shaped to form his signature smiley face. The metal was deliberately beaten out roughly, crudely imitating the blotchiness of the design when it was drawn in blood, though the blood drops that dripped from the lines was a detail that was left out.

The belt buckled, his lower body covered, Red John moved on to the black shirt. It was the same material as his underwear and socks, fit over his torso and arms tightly, like a second skin; though it was almost liquid-like in appearance, it breathed very well. There was an invisible flap on the front of the neckline, which he would later pull up over his nose to cover his neck and the lower part of his face.

He moved on to the gloves. They looked normal on the outside, but fit snugly and smoothly on the inside, almost the way his shirt did.

The right half of his wardrobe emptied, Red John shut the right-side door. He moved around and flexed a little, settling into his garments with satisfaction. Then, he opened the left-side door and took out the most important piece of all: the coat.

It was long - it came down well past his knees - and the uninformed would be surprised by how lightweight it was, considering its thickness. It had two rows of buttons down the front, and a hood that came to a point at the back. The edge of the hood, over his eyes, had a flap like that on his shirt, which he would pull down over his chin after pulling the flap on his shirt up, thus completely covering his face and masking any skin that wasn't covered by the rest of his costume.

He shrugged it on in one quick movement, quickly buttoned the buttons, pulled the flap on his shirt up over his nose, hooked his finger in the flap in the hood, and pulled his hood up and the flap down over his face in one fluid motion, turning him into a pitch-black figure. As an added bonus, all of the pieces of his costume (except the masked part, for obvious reasons) had been designed to literally absorb light, meaning that he would appear as a void in space, even at noon in the middle of a desert. Like the belt, this wasn't a feature that was particularly practical for any purpose, but was simply a small tribute to his vanity.

_I am a monster,_ he thought proudly _…__and a show-off,_ he admitted to himself after a minute.

Smiling behind his pseudo-cloth mask, he picked up his knife.

_I wonder what I will look like through vision blockers,_ he thought to himself as he walked down the hall.

~o~

"Wake up, My Dear Little Saint."

The soft, dark voice roused Lisbon from her stupor. In truth, she hadn't exactly been asleep, though she hadn't been awake, either, similar to the way she was not exactly alive, but not exactly dead. She looked around for the source of the voice.

"Where are you?" she asked, her voice flat and empty.

"I'm right in front of you, My Dear," said Red John.

Lisbon couldn't see him at first. Then, what appeared to be a shadow pulled out what she recognized as Red John's knife and started tossing it around.

"Do you see me now?" he asked.

She squinted. She couldn't be certain, but she thought she could make out the profile of the person who had ambushed her in the parking garage a lifetime ago…the coat, the boots, the hood…

"Tell me," Red John whispered, "what do I look like through vision blockers?"

"A void," Lisbon answered truthfully. "A gap between shadows."

"How poetic," commented Red John. "Who would have thought that breaking you would lend such elegance to your diction?"

"Is it time?" Lisbon asked listlessly.

Red John chuckled. "No, My Dear, it is not time," he answered, "and it would appear that it never will be." He stalked towards her. "My Dear, I have good news and bad news," he told her. "The good news is: My Old Friend figured out where we are; he's on his way here right now. The bad news is…" He smiled, and Lisbon could almost make out the movement behind the shroud of cloth over his face. "My Old Friend figured out where we are; he's on his way here right now," Red John finished, and he reached into his coat pocket - which was located between the buttons down the front of his coat - and pulled out a grenade.

He didn't really need to use a smoke grenade - a needle would have been more efficient - but he liked to go for maximum effect, and Lisbon's eyes widened as he pulled out the key and dropped the grenade in front of her. As gas exuded from the grenade, filling the room with smoke, Red John crouched down and kissed her through his mask.

Her last thought before losing consciousness would have been disturbing to her, had she been anything but indifferent to the world:

_Why is he such a good kisser?_

~o~

He had it.

Jane looked down at the message he had decoded.

_37 degrees north, 121 degrees west._

_Come alone._

Map coordinates._ Why not an address?_ Jane didn't stop to question it for long - he had precious little time. He ran to Van Pelt's computer - she, Rigsby, and Cho were elsewhere for some reason - and entered in the coordinates on a mapping site. He quickly found the answer to his question: The location was in the middle of a desert - there were no roads within a mile of it.

_Of course._

Still, he had it, and he was going.

As he was hurrying towards the stairs, he passed his teammates.

"Hey, Patrick, where are you going?" asked Van Pelt.

"To save her," he answered quickly.

"You found Teresa?" Rigsby exclaimed.

"Yup!" Jane shot over his shoulder.

"Where is she?" asked Van Pelt.

"Can't tell you," he answered, walking quickly away.

Van Pelt ran and, to his surprise and frustration, caught his arm, stopping him.

"We need to know where she is," she told him.

"He wants me to come alone," Jane told her in response.

Rigsby and Cho had caught up to them.

"Patrick, set the game aside for a minute and think about this!" Van Pelt exclaimed. "She has twenty-three large lacerations all over her body, and lord only knows what else has been done to her! She needs an ambulance yesterday!"

Jane paused; she had a point.

He thought fast. "Okay, tell you what," he said quickly: "I'll go on ahead now, and once the coast is clear, I'll call you and tell you where to go. Be ready." He turned away before any of them had a chance to respond, only to be stopped yet again, this time by Bertram.

"Patrick," he said, "what are you doing? Aren't you supposed to be trying to-?"

"I found her," Jane said quickly, "and I've got to go. Can't tell you where she is right now - the team will explain." He shouldered his way past Bertram.

"Patrick!" Bertram called after him.

Jane spun around, exasperated. "What?" he demanded.

Bertram drew himself up proudly and declared in a very professional tone of voice, "As the director of the California Bureau of Investigation, I hereby authorize you to use deadly force against Red John if necessary…and I'm going to leave it up to your discretion to define 'necessary'," he added, making air quotes around the word "necessary".

For a moment, Jane was too stunned to speak.

"Go get 'em," Bertram said to him, flashing a rare smile, "and bring my agent back!"

"Yes, sir!" Jane said enthusiastically, and he hurried out of the building.

He took the stairs - the mere thought of waiting in an elevator for any length of time was unbearable. He ran so fast he practically flew out the door. He raced to his car, got in, started the engine, and sped out of the parking lot.

_I have you now, you son of a bitch._

~o~

The drive took about an hour, and it was late morning when Jane got there. He pulled up to what appeared to be a wooden cabin, half-buried in the sand. He got out of his car and just stood there, looking at the structure for a minute.

The thought flashed through his mind that this might be a trap, but even though he knew it probably was, it was a risk he had to take.

He walked to the front door and opened it, revealing wooden stairs down into a dark hallway that was below ground level. He stepped inside after only a moment's hesitation, and was about to shut the door behind him when he fortunately noticed that there was no handle on the inside of the door - the door could only be opened from the outside.

_He's still here…just like he said he would be…_

Jane smiled, opened the door all the way so that it wouldn't swing shut, and descended into the dark building.

He opened the first door he came to, which was on his right, to find rows and rows of little glass vials of clear liquid arranged on shelves that extended from the floor to the ceiling. He couldn't see any labels, and the liquids didn't look any different from one another. Jane didn't waste much time wondering what they were before shutting the door and continuing down the hallway.

The second door he came to was also on his right. Inside, he found a table with some ordinary, neatly-folded clothes on top of it and a lone-standing wardrobe. He didn't investigate; Lisbon wasn't there, and that was all that mattered. He closed the door and kept walking.

It was then that he noticed the tracks.

There were what appeared to be the tracks of two people, marked by a long pool of blood, as though one of the two people walking was exuding blood continuously as they walked.

Jane grabbed the handle of the door to his left and flung it open, and was faced by what appeared to be dozens of surveillance screens.

He looked around at them in awe, and saw that the entire CBI HQ could be observed from this one room. He was trying not to think about what this implied in terms of Red John's power, and how Jane had been going about trying to catch him, when the blood caught his eye. There, on what appeared to be the main screen, were two bloody handprints, as though someone covered in blood had held their hands against it…and based on the size of the handprints, Jane had a pretty good guess who it had been.

Getting frantic now, Jane shut the door to the surveillance room and continued down the hall, following the blood trail, a very potent odor quickly getting stronger as he walked. He looked around the corner to his right, and faced a large indent in the wall that formed a whole room.

The entire floor was covered in a deep pool of blood.

The smell alone was gut-wrenching, but the _sight_ of it was completely petrifying._ No one can lose that much blood and survive,_ Jane thought. _Damn…can a person even _have_ that much blood?_ He reminded himself that this was the accumulation of three weeks' worth of bleeding wounds, but the thought wasn't even close to comforting. _She's alive,_ he told himself as he forced himself to keep walking down the hall. _She's alive…_

The blood trail was incredibly thick; Jane's thin-soled shoes were getting stuck in the bloody scrum that coated the floor. There was one last door to his left…

He opened it and found himself in a small bathroom. There was blood everywhere - the wooden toilet was permanently stained red, and even the toilet water was reddish. The room was empty.

_What?_ He hadn't skipped any doors, so where was she? Where was _he_?

Suddenly, he noticed that the blood trail thinned, but didn't stop, as it crossed the room and disappeared under the frame of another door.

He crossed the room in two steps and opened the door, only to be blinded by light.

The light in most of the cabin was dim, so the sudden bright fluorescent light was momentarily stunning. Jane blinked, then was slowly able to make out a washroom. The room had obviously been all white once - the ceiling, floor, and walls were all smooth, like porcelain. There was a tub, and two metal knobs and a spigot, all of which looked perfectly normal…except for the blood that covered the entire room.

So much blood…How could anyone survive losing so much blood?

Panic started rising in Jane's chest.

"Teresa!" he shouted.

~o~

The first thing Lisbon noticed when she woke up was that there was music playing.

_That damn music…_

Her eyes flew open, and the second thing she noticed was that _she could see_!

She looked around.

She was being held in an eagle-spread standing position by chains around her wrists, ankles, and waist. She also thought she could feel something tight around her throat, but she couldn't be sure. Her shoes, socks, jacket, and belt were back on, and her jacket was helping to stop some of the blood flow from the wounds on her torso, if only slightly. The room she was in was much larger than the room she had been kept in was, and it was divided into three sections by feeble wooden cage walls. One half - the half in front of her - was mostly bare, except for a table that stood in front of a door that was deeply recessed into the far wall. On the table was a knife and a key. The other half of the room was divided in half again. One side was where she was, and the other…

"Ah, you're awake, My Dear."

The chilling voice made her breath catch, and she whipped her head to her right to see Red John, dressed all in black, tossing his knife around as usual. Most of his quadrant of the room was taken up by a low table for no reason she could discern, and he was pacing back and forth between it and the feeble wooden bars that separated him from the open half of the room.

As Lisbon watched, the song playing came to an end, and Red John stuck his knife into a slot in the wall, ending it.

"Good," Red John hissed; "you will want to be awake for this."

_Deja vu._

"Wh…wha…?" Lisbon couldn't talk; the effect of the sleeping gas was still wearing off.

"My Old Friend should be here any minute now," Red John told her. "In fact, he's running a bit late. I wonder what's taking him so long?"

Suddenly, she heard a shout:

"Teresa!"

She would have recognized that voice anywhere._  
><em>

"Patrick!" she called.

A moment later, she heard footsteps pounding closer, and the door that was deeply recessed into the wall swung open, revealing a very frantic Patrick Jane.

At the sight of him, Lisbon collapsed with relief.

~o~

Jane heard the cry, a little further in the direction the hallway had been going. Quickly, Jane ran out of the bathroom and turned to the end of the hallway.

It was another door.

He sprinted to it, wrenched it open, and burst into a large room.

There was Lisbon. She was being held up by thick chains, and blood was dripping down every part of her body, but she was alive. She sagged and went limp the moment he saw her.

"Teresa!" he said again, and he started to move around the table that was in his way for some reason when the dark laughter made him freeze.

"Welcome, Old Friend," said a sinister voice.

Jane tore his eyes off of Lisbon and looked to his left to see a tall figure dressed in black half-sitting on a large, low table, twirling a wicked-looking knife around in one hand.

"You…" Jane said softly.

Red John laughed. "Me," he said tauntingly. "It took you long enough to get here. I knew before we started playing this little game that you were an idiot, but I never dreamed that it would take you three whole weeks to figure out where I had taken sweet Saint Teresa." He laughed again and stood up. "I tried to make it easy for you," he taunted. "Was it really that hard?"

"No," Jane said softly. Then, he cleared his throat and raised his voice, the shock of coming face-to-masked-face with Red John wearing off. "No, it was too easy. I expected something a bit more complicated from you."

Red John laughed again. "Complexity is overrated," he jeered; "what matters is effectiveness." He chuckled darkly and gestured to the weak wooden bars that separated him, Lisbon, and Jane. "For example, this setup right here," he said. "It may not be too complex, and it may not be very ornate, but it more than does the job."

"What are you talking about?" Jane demanded.

Red John chuckled again in response. "Look in front of you," he said.

Jane turned to the table that was in front of him, and noticed the knife, on the left side, and the key, on the right side, for the first time.

Jane looked back up at Red John. "What the hell is this?" he asked.

Jane could almost swear he saw Red John smile behind his black cloth mask. "Old Friend, you have yet to answer my question," he said tauntingly.

"Don't you have enough to guess the answer to your goddamn question yourself?" Jane demanded, completely fed up.

Red John chuckled softly. "Old Friend, I never said I _didn't_ know the answer," he hissed; "what I said was that there was a question _you_ needed to answer…and now you shall."

"And how's that?" asked Jane sarcastically.

Red John started pacing as he tossed his knife around. "You have a choice to make," he told Jane. "As promised, since you have found us before I killed her, you may save Teresa if you wish. Or…" He chuckled. "…you can do what you swore you would do years ago…" He stopped and turned to Jane. "You can kill me," he hissed. "However, you cannot have both."

Jane said nothing.

"What will it be?" Red John asked mockingly.

"I'll take both, thanks," Jane said cynically.

"Are you hard of hearing, _as well as_ being an idiot?" asked Red John condescendingly. "I just said, you can_not_ have both. You must choose, one or the other."

"I don't see why," Jane said, raising an eyebrow.

Red John chuckled. "Well, then, let me explain it to you," he taunted.

"Please do," Jane replied sarcastically.

Red John gestured to the items on the table. "Here, I have provided you with a knife, as I had a feeling you didn't bring your own." He smiled. "Surely you know that I know what you swore you would do to me?" he taunted. "Cut me open and watch me die slowly like I did your wife and child…those were the words you used when you spoke to our dear Teresa here years ago, yes?"

Jane refused to flinch at this knowledge, as he was already getting an idea of what Red John could and couldn't know based on the surveillance room Jane had seen. "That's right," he said instead, his voice steady and hateful. "Thanks for the knife." He reached out to take it.

"Ah-ah-ah!" Red John said quickly, raising a finger and making Jane pause. "You mustn't be so hasty," Red John hissed. "If you pick that up, sweet Teresa dies."

Jane blinked, not understanding the connection.

Red John laughed and turned to Lisbon. "My Dear, are you awake?" he asked her.

Lisbon lifted her head. "Yeah, I'm awake," she replied tonelessly.

When Lisbon lifted her head, her hair, which had been masking her face, fell away, and after taking one glance, Jane gasped.

"You son of a bitch!" he exclaimed furiously, turning on Red John. "What did you do to her?"

"Apart from giving her a bath, nothing you aren't presently aware of," Red John answered with a shrug.

Actually, Jane had already guessed that Red John had given Lisbon a bath, based on all the blood that had been in the room with the tub in it, but he hadn't wanted Lisbon to hear it, considering the implications.

Jane glared at Red John, wishing he could channel his hatred into his gaze and kill his old foe right where he stood.

"'If looks could kill'," Red John murmured mockingly, seeing this. He smiled, then turned back to Lisbon. "My Dear, lift your chin, so that My Old Friend can see what is around your neck."

Lisbon hesitated.

"Do it," Red John said dangerously, raising his knife and pointing it at her.

She flinched, fear in her eyes, and quickly jerked her chin up.

Jane looked at her throat, and saw that there was a thick, dark choker around it.

"What the hell is that?" he demanded.

Red John snickered. "That collar is full of an extremely potent venom," he told Jane. "It is remotely activated. If activated, it will inject the venom directly into her jugular vein, killing her within the space of two seconds."

"What's the trigger?" Jane asked, suddenly fearful.

Red John's smile was _definitely_ visible beneath his cloth mask as he walked over to the wooden bars that separated him from Jane. Then, he reached up with his knife and tapped a black band that was wrapped around one of the top bars; there was an identical band around the bar above it, in the exact same place, and though the two bars were not hooked together, they were almost touching. "That," he said, answering Jane's question. "If those two bands move too far apart, a signal will be sent to the collar around sweet Teresa's neck, and she will die." He paced a bit, then continued, "If you pick up that knife, this cage door will open, and thus, those two bands will be separated."

Jane stood frozen.

Red John chuckled. "To put it in words even _you_ can understand," he sneered: "In order to kill _me_, you have to kill _her_ first."

Jane swallowed. "And what happens if I pick up the key?" he asked.

Red John shrugged. "Then, the door to her cage will open, and you can save her. That key goes to all of her chains, and the collar around her neck."

"And what will you do then?" Jane pressed.

Red John chuckled sinisterly. "Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head - and I do mean _little_," he sneered; "I like my life far too much to give it up, for _anything._ If you decide to save her, and let me go, I will go back to my life. Likewise, you will go back to yours, and everything will return to normal: Me living my double life, and you desperately trying - in vain - to figure out my secret identity…but you have my word, I will not go underground, nor will I flee."

"How do I know you won't just come back and kill her later?" Jane demanded. "You don't let any of your victims get away."

"While I may not like it, that is what I shall do, if you choose to save her," Red John replied. Then, for good measure, he added, "And I hereby give you my word that, no matter what you choose, after I leave this building, I will not kill her, nor will I have her killed, nor will I be in any way responsible for, or even willingly involved in, her death." He smiled. "Satisfied?" he asked.

Jane took a deep breath. "You've been giving your word a lot lately," he commented.

"Would you trust me if I didn't?" asked Red John in reply.

Jane didn't even have to think about it. "_Never_!" he spat.

Red John smiled. "Well, there you have it, then," he said, accentuating the statement with an arm-spread gesture.

There was a pause as Jane glared at Red John.

"Now then…" Red John said, half-sitting on the table once more, "what will it be?"

Jane stood, silent and still, hating Red John and the choice he was forcing Jane to make.

"Patrick…" Lisbon croaked.

Jane looked up, and his eyes met hers.

"Kill him," she said flatly.

Red John laughed, but both Jane and Lisbon ignored him.

"Teresa-"

"You have to kill him!" exclaimed Lisbon, cutting Jane off. "My life is not _nearly_ as important as his death! You have to kill him now, while you have the chance!"

"I can't just let you die!" exclaimed Jane.

"Yes you can!" Lisbon shouted. Then, she sighed. "Look, I told you not to look for me, and you didn't listen then, and I'm glad you didn't, because now you're here, and you can kill him. But Patrick…" She looked into his eyes, and Jane could barely see the shattered remains of his friend behind them, fearful and desperate. "He's a monster," she told him softly. "He's not…He's not even _human_. You have to kill him, _now_!" Tears started trailing down her face as her pleas grew more desperate. "You can't let that…that _thing_ go on living, not for one more second! He's the worst thing that's _ever_ happened to this world! The devil himself couldn't _possibly_ be more evil! You…You don't have any idea what he is! You think you know him, but you don't, and you should thank your lucky stars for that, but take my word for it: You _have_ to kill him!"

"Oh, Teresa, My Dear Little Saint, your flattery is almost more than I can bear," Red John said, sincere despite his mocking tone.

Lisbon's eyes stared deeply into Jane's as she tried to convey the gravity of Red John's evil. "You see?" she cried. "He even _admits_ it! He's _proud_ of it! Patrick…" She broke off, sobbing. "You have to kill him!" she wept. "It's okay that I'll die! I can't think of a way I'd rather die than making sure that that _thing_ is wiped off the face of this earth! Please! I _want_ to die for this!"

Red John's chilling laughter echoed throughout the room until it seemed to come from everywhere.

"Shut up!" Jane snapped at him. He turned back to Lisbon. "Teresa, I can't…"

"Please!" cried Lisbon desperately. "Kill him! He needs to die! He needed to die before he was even born!"

"Ironic that you would say that, as I nearly did," Red John commented softly, though neither Jane nor Lisbon thought to think anything of it.

"You shut up!" Lisbon snapped at Red John tearfully.

"I'm not _objecting_," Red John pointed out defensively (though he was clearly doing so for the fun of it).

"Yeah, well, no one wants to hear you talk!" Lisbon retorted.

"Well now, that's a bit-"

"_Enough_!" Jane, who had been running his fingers through his greasy hair in indecision, had had it. He turned to Lisbon. "Teresa, please be quiet," he said to her. He turned to Red John. "You, shut the hell up," he snapped at him.

Both Red John and Lisbon were silent.

The fact of the matter was, even without Lisbon's pleas, the decision was a nearly impossible one.

_I have to save her…_

I can't let him go!

_I can catch him another day; I can't save her another day…_

I'll never get another chance to have my way with him!

_It's not worth it…_

She wants me to!

_She's not herself…_

She doesn't have to be!

_You can't let him take her…_

She would die for this willingly, I know she would!

_It's not the same…_

It doesn't matter!

_Yes it does…_

His internal argument raged on and on. He tried desperately to think of some way to both save Lisbon and kill Red John, but he couldn't come up with anything. Being sleep deprived and having half starved himself didn't help, and neither did the desperation of the situation. The worst part was that Lisbon was bleeding badly, and he knew that if he didn't make a choice soon, he would lose _both_ options.

He turned away, rubbed his hands over his face…and sighed. He knew what he had to do.

~o~

Panic rose in Lisbon's aching chest as Jane deliberated what to do. The concept of living had completely lost all meaning to her, and all that mattered was that Red John needed to die, _now_.

Finally, she heard him sigh, his back to her. Good. He'd made up his mind. She knew he wouldn't give up this chance to kill Red John; she wasn't worth that much to him, she knew that - _nothing_ was.

She watched him take out his cell phone. _Huh? What's that for?_ she wondered.

He called a number on speed dial. When whoever he was calling answered, he gave them what sounded like map coordinates, then added, "It's a little wooden building in the middle of the desert, a mile or so west of Route 5." He paused. "Yes," he said, and he hung up. Then, he turned back around and walked up to the edge of the table. His gaze turned to Red John.

"I want you to know something," he told Red John, his voice deadly serious: "So long as you and I are both alive, this will not - _can_ not - end."

"Until death do us part, then?" asked Red John mockingly.

"Sounds good to me," Jane answered.

Red John chuckled. "Well," he said mockingly, "we all know how seriously you take _that_ vow."

Jane ignored this last comment, and his eyes met hers. Those blue eyes glistened in the dim light with tears of regret. "I'm sorry, Teresa," he told her softly.

"It's okay," she replied just as softly, on the verge of tears herself.

Jane closed his eyes and sighed. Then, he glared at Red John.

"Go to hell," he told him, and without looking down, he reached out and grabbed…_the key?_

Lisbon was too shocked to respond at first, as Jane shot one last skewering glare at Red John and ran to her, the wooden cage door opening just in time to let him through.

"What the - what are you doing?" she exclaimed as he dropped to his knees before he came to a full stop, grabbed the shackle around her left ankle, and stuffed the key in the lock.

"I'm saving your life!" he replied firmly.

"What? No!" Her left leg was free, and Jane moved to the right one. "No!" she shouted again. "Get away from me! I don't want-!" She didn't bother finishing her sentence. Instead, she kicked Jane in the face with her newly freed right leg, as her words seemed to have no impact on him whatsoever.

Jane fell back, and Red John laughed. Lisbon spared Red John a glance and saw that he was leaning against the back wall casually, watching them and twirling his knife around as usual. "Look, he's still there!" she shouted at Jane, turning back to see him rise to his feet and step towards her again. "No! Don't save me! I don't want you to save me!"

"I'm always going to save you, Teresa, whether you like it or not!" Jane shouted back.

"_No_!" Lisbon struggled against her chains, fighting to keep Jane from being able to get a good hold on any of the shackles that held her in place.

"Teresa, stop it, you're going to make your injuries worse!" Jane exclaimed, fighting to get ahold of her left wrist so that he could free it.

"Get away from me!" she shouted at him.

"Teresa, hold still!" Jane shouted back.

"No! Get away-!"

"Stop it-!"

"Kill him-!"

"Stop moving, let me-!"

"No!"

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Jane finally exclaimed, and suddenly, with no further warning, he kissed her.

Lisbon froze.

It had been just a quick peck, really - in fact, it had been so brief, Lisbon wondered for a moment whether or not it had even happened. But no…Red John's laugh was echoing around them, so he'd seen it…

"Now hold still, damn it!" Jane said to her after a moment, exasperated.

She didn't respond. She _couldn't_ respond - the unexpectedness of the gesture had her in shock. As Jane unlocked first her left, then her right wrist, her mind moved sluggishly; all she knew was that, suddenly, the thought of being alive actually meant something again.

~o~

Lisbon had stopped struggling, thank goodness - Jane didn't know what he would have done if kissing her hadn't worked. It had been the only thing he could think of.

Having freed her arms - each of which had fallen limply to her side after he had let go of it - he put his arms around her and held on to her; the way she was sagging, he had a feeling she would need support to stand. She hung limply in his arms like a rag doll.

"Teresa," he murmured, "try to stand. Come on, try to get your footing." He worked hard to make his voice soft and soothing, and he was speaking so quietly he wondered if Red John could hear him.

Lisbon obeyed, though he had a feeling it was an automatic response not based on any will. As soon as her feet were on the floor, Jane unlocked the band around her torso that held her up. "Can you stand?" he murmured. "Try to stand, okay?"

He let her go. Immediately, her knees buckled and she started to fall.

"Whoa whoa whoa," he said softly, catching her. "It's okay. I've got you." He kept talking, trying to soothe both her and himself. "I gotcha. You're okay."

She was fully leaning against him…The last time he'd had to hold her like this, he'd been hypnotizing her to help her figure out what she'd done the night of a murder. He gently pushed her hair aside, revealing the collar around her neck, and the lock that held it in place. "Okay," he whispered, "let's get this thing off you." He put the key in the lock.

"Oh, Old Friend, before you do that, there is something you should know, and I should probably tell you now, so I cannot be accused of breaking my word."

Red John's voice made Jane freeze - he knew by then to stop doing something when Red John instructed him to. Slowly, Jane turned to look over Lisbon's head at Red John. "What?" he asked.

Red John chuckled. "You recall how I said that that collar was remotely activated?" he asked.

"Yes," Jane said, then added, "and you can't tell me otherwise - you said I could save her, so if you made it so that she dies no matter what, you're breaking your word."

Red John chuckled softly again. "I gave my word that I would play by my rules," he said, "and I have done so…but, now that you've chosen to save her, the game is over, and there are no rules if there is no game."

Jane said nothing, lost by this absurd logic that also somehow made sense, and settled for glaring at his old foe.

"Now then…" Red John continued after a moment, "I told you the collar is remotely activated, and that those two bands are the trigger. That _is_ true, but I failed to mention…" He stuck a gloved hand into a side pocket on his long coat. "There's another remote," he hissed.

"No!" Jane shouted, and three things happened within the space of half a second: Red John pulled a small black box out of his pocket and pushed the red button on it, Jane grabbed the key and turned it, and then Jane yanked the collar off Lisbon. The hypodermic needle that would have injected Lisbon with the poison in the collar extended just as it was being pulled away from her neck, and barely failed to pierce her skin, squirting the poison all over the skin on her neck instead before being flung far away, trailing the liquid that was a very cliché shade of green.

"Farewell for now, o foolish old friend of mine," Red John said, and he opened a hidden door and vanished through it.

Jane barely glanced after him. "Teresa, it didn't inject you, did it?" he asked Lisbon.

Lisbon had barely managed to shake her head that no, it hadn't, before she started convulsing and sinking to the floor.

"No," Jane breathed, frantic. "No, no, no! Teresa!"

He kept her from falling too hard, but he couldn't help her from falling onto her back. She was convulsing and choking, seeming like she couldn't breathe.

Frantic, Jane looked at where the poison had gotten on her skin, and saw that the skin that had been sprayed looked raw, like a chemical burn.

Somehow, Jane's mind managed to process this and respond almost instantaneously. Before he even knew what he was doing, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small vial he'd had for the past couple of years, ever since the poison used to kill Rebecca had been identified - he'd been carrying the antidote around with him ever since, just in case, as the poison had been very unique and effective, and Jane had had a feeling that Red John might use it again…

Jane's hands were shaking with adrenaline as he pulled out the small needle he'd also been carrying and tried to load it as quickly as possible. He knew he had seconds at most - as Red John had said, it was a very fast-acting toxin. He glanced down and saw that Lisbon was starting to froth at the mouth - a sign that she was almost dead. In a panic, he wrenched the lid off the vial and dumped the rest of the antidote on the acid burn on her throat. He couldn't tell if it was helping or not, so he quickly cleared any air bubbles out of the now-full needle and, praying that he didn't miss, jabbed into the side of her neck, pushing the antidote into her bloodstream.

Almost instantly, Lisbon gasped and started coughing. Jane wanted to collapse with relief, but he knew he hadn't saved her yet. "That's it, there you go," he whispered to her as he tossed the needle aside. "Breathe…Just breathe…" Her breaths started coming more easily, and she stopped coughing. "There you go, that's it…" He took a deep breath of his own; she was going to make it, if he hurried. "You're gonna be okay, Lisbon," he said softly.

She smiled faintly. "'Lisbon'," she repeated, her voice sounding detached, like she wasn't really thinking about what she was saying or doing. "Thanks, Patrick…best thing I've heard in three weeks…"

Jane smiled tearfully, his emotions so far past overflow point that he could barely express them. "It's over," he told her; "you don't have to call me by my first name anymore. Call me Jane."

"Jane…" she said, still faint.

He smiled at her again. "Thanks," he said; "best thing _I've_ heard in three weeks." He gave himself a little shake and moved to try to pick her up.

"Jane?" she said again.

"Yes, Lisbon?" he replied.

She smiled at him, as though in a trance. "Kiss me again," she said dreamily.

Jane blinked and froze, not sure how to respond. After a moment, he decided to pretend she hadn't said anything.

"Come on," he murmured, putting her arms around his neck. "Grab on to me. Hold on. Can you hold on?" She didn't reply, but he felt her hands clasp together, if weakly. "Good, that's good," he murmured to her, trying to soothe both her and himself with constant talk. "Good…good…" He put his arms under her. "Come on, let's get you out of here," he said softly, and with a grunt of effort, he lifted her up, noticing right away that she was way too light. _He's been starving her and she's lost a lot of blood and goodness knows what else,_ he thought, not that he hadn't already known that.

"Okay," he breathed to himself, and he started carrying Lisbon out of hell.

As he walked, he tried to keep talking…to comfort her, he supposed; he didn't really think about why he was doing it.

"It's over…He's gone…I got you…You're okay…You're gonna be okay…I got you… I'm here…Everything's gonna be alright…You're alright…It's all over…You're gonna be fine…"

When he neared the end of the hallway, he saw to his relief that the door to the outside hadn't closed on him, and the late morning sunlight was shining down the stairs like a beacon.

"Is that the sun?" Lisbon asked sleepily when it hit her.

"Yeah," Jane answered.

A smile looked like it was trying to form on her lips. "He said I'd never see the sun again," she murmured.

"Well, he was wrong," he told her softly.

This time, she really did smile, and he felt her start to go completely limp in his arms.

"No, no, no, Lisbon, stay with me," he said, trying to be soothing and firm at the same time but instead sounding slightly panicked. "Don't you dare leave me, do you hear me? Don't you _dare_ die on me." He wasn't sure that letting her pass out was a bad idea, but he didn't want to take any risks, not after he'd come so far.

"Jane…" Her voice and smile were those of a person on the verge of sleep. "I've seen the sun again…" Her smile twitched. "We've kissed…What else do I have to live for?"

Jane blinked and froze again, once more unsure how to respond.

"Your friends," he answered after a minute. "Your family. Your job. Your life. And…him. Don't you want to live to see him die? Don't you want to beat him? You die, he wins."

Lisbon said nothing.

"Plus, what about fresh air?" Jane suggested.

"Fresh air…" she repeated softly. "Yeah. Okay. I guess I'll stay awake for that."

Jane didn't waste any energy with a reply; Lisbon was too light, but it was still an effort for him to carry her up the stairs. Once they stepped outside, a warm, light desert wind ruffled their bloodstained clothes and hair.

Lisbon sighed contentedly, then lost consciousness, her face falling against Jane's chest. He could still feel her breathing, though he didn't know how long that would last. He didn't realize another car had driven up before Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt all suddenly emerged from it and hurried over to him.

"You got her!" exclaimed a relieved Rigsby.

"Is she okay?" Van Pelt asked worriedly as the three teammates jogged up to him.

The question was so ridiculous that Jane couldn't help lashing out. He glared at Van Pelt. "Does she look 'okay' to you?" he demanded in reply, shrugging slightly so that Lisbon's face rolled into view.

All three of his friends gasped, and Van Pelt actually jumped back a step, when they saw what Jane vowed Lisbon would never see: Red John had cut up Lisbon's face to look like his smiley-face signature. The thin, bloody lines in her skin even surrounded her face and arched over her eyelids, and the open left eye had been re-created with a short, extra cut on her left eyelid that ran perpendicular to the arched "eye". The cuts were extremely shallow, but distinct nonetheless.

"Is she alive?" Van Pelt asked breathlessly after a minute.

"Well, she couldn't be much closer to being dead without actually _being_ dead, but, yeah, she's alive," Jane answered. "Which reminds me, where's the ambulance?"

"It was right behind us," Grace said, glancing around uncertainly.

No sooner had she finished speaking than an ambulance drove up in a cloud of dust. Without so much as another glance at his friends, Jane carried Lisbon forward to meet it. Medics jumped from the vehicle as it came to a complete stop, and Jane quickly handed Lisbon over to them.

"She has twenty-three large lacerations all over her body, not counting the cuts on her face," he told them quickly; "there's a chemical burn on her neck; she was poisoned through that burn - I gave her the antidote, but you should probably keep an eye on that - and she's probably been starved and dehydrated…"

"Someone wanted her good and dead," one of the medics commented as they rushed her, now in a stretcher, into the back of the ambulance.

"No," Jane said softly, almost to himself; "he was careful about that." Then, raising his voice, he asked, "Who's in charge here?"

One of the medics paused and stepped towards Jane. Not giving the man a chance to say anything, Jane told him gravely, "Don't let those cuts on her face scar."

"Sir," the medic replied hesitantly, "from the look of things, the only way we can make sure of that is by putting her in a drug-induced coma, so unless you're immediate family, that's not your call-"

"I'm her husband," Jane said sharply, cutting the man off with a wave of his left hand, displaying his wedding ring; he decided quickly that lying was going to be both easier and faster than arguing the point.

The medic's skepticism was extremely obvious.

Burying his exasperation, Jane said quickly, "She doesn't like to wear her wedding ring, says it gets in the way of using a gun." He thought quickly, then added, "She also didn't take my last name. But she is my wife, and I'm telling you right now, do whatever you have to to make sure those cuts on her face heal without scarring." He met the medic's skeptical gaze glaringly, daring him to question Jane's statement.

Finally, the medic conceded. "Okay," he said with a quick nod.

Jane let his expression soften. "Take care of her," he said.

"You wanna come?" the medic asked him.

"No, no, I'd just get in the way," Jane replied. "Just hurry up and get her out of here, okay?"

The medic nodded and climbed into the ambulance without another word, shutting the doors behind him.

Jane stood there, watching the ambulance drive away. When the dust cloud was out of sight, he turned around and walked toward his car, shrugging off his bloody jacket, barely registering as he did so that his front was completely soaked in Lisbon's blood. He leaned against the hood of his car with one hand for a minute, panting with exhaustion that finally started to catch up with him. Then, in a sudden fit of passion, he balled up his jacket and flung it to the ground angrily, then sat down heavily on the ground and leaned back against the front of his car.

His friends ran up to him. "Patrick, what's wrong?" asked Van Pelt.

Jane looked at her and pointed a finger with what would have been an angry expression if he hadn't been so completely worn out. "Don't call me that," he told her, panting. "Do _not_…call me that. It's over. Call me Jane." He looked away and stared into space. "If I _ever_ hear anyone call me by my first name again…it'll be too soon."

"Jane, what happened?" Van Pelt revised.

"He got away," Jane panted angrily.

"I thought he wasn't going to leave until-"

"He didn't leave," Jane said listlessly, cutting Rigsby off and glancing at him. "He was here. I saw him." He turned back to empty space. "Son of a bitch was right in front of me." He shook his head. "He even gave me a knife so I could kill him." His fists clenched. "And I had to let him go."

"Why?" asked Cho.

"To save Lisbon," Jane answered, turning back to his friends. "Red John had this whole system set up so that, in order to kill him, I would have had to kill her first." He closed his eyes and sighed. "I didn't have a choice," he told them. "He knew I wouldn't sacrifice Lisbon to kill him. He just gave me the illusion of having a choice so that this wouldn't be a victory for me." He chuckled humorlessly, opening his eyes and turning away again. "I know that, and it still doesn't help."

"Kill her?"

"The system would have injected her with a fast-acting poison if I chose to kill him," Jane said shortly; he didn't feel like talking too much.

"I thought you told them she was poisoned anyway," Rigsby said.

"He gave it to her anyway," Jane said. "I had the antidote. It was the same stuff he used to kill Rebecca."

"It's lucky you had that," Cho commented.

Jane chuckled humorlessly. "Not 'lucky'," he corrected; "Red John _knew_ I had it. That's why he gave that poison to her." As he said it, he knew it was true. He thought briefly of how, if he hadn't thought quickly and acted out of desperation, he would have learned from the autopsy what had killed her, and would have realized too late that Red John hadn't broken his word after all, that it was Jane's fault she had died, that he could have saved her…

"Well…" Rigsby said slowly, glancing at Cho and Van Pelt, trying to think of something consoling to say. "We should…get some forensics teams out here. I mean, if Red John's been living here for the past three weeks, there has to be something here that we can use. I mean, it doesn't matter how careful he might have been, there _has_ to be a hair follicle or something, _somewhere_."

"Yeah," Jane said listlessly. It was true…

Then, suddenly, he blinked, his eyes widening. It _was_ true. But after all the stuff Red John had already managed to pull off…

Jane grabbed his jacket and jumped to his feet. "Get in the car and drive!" he told them wildly, lunging for the driver door of his own car.

"What?" asked Van Pelt, not understanding.

"Get out of here!" Jane shouted over the top of his car door, jumping in. "Now!" He slammed the door closed, made a wild, fishtailing turn, and sped off as fast as he could.

Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt watched him go, temporarily stunned.

"Red John would know that he wouldn't be able to keep _all_ possible evidence from being left behind," Cho said.

"But he's worked so hard to keep from getting caught…" Van Pelt continued the thought.

"He's not going to let us get any evidence, especially not now," Rigsby finished, "which means…"

The shock of realization froze the three friends for a moment. Then, all at once, they lunged for the car they had arrived in. Van Pelt reached the driver door, and Rigsby and Cho didn't fight her for it, instead both jumping in back. Van Pelt was driving the car away before Rigsby and Cho had even finished closing the doors, and raced after Jane.

They almost made it. They were in sight of the highway - Jane could actually see the strip of pavement that ran through the desert - when an enormous mushroom cloud bloomed behind them where the cabin had been. Red John had rigged all the ground within a half-mile radius of the building to explode with tons and tons of C4, completely obliterating any trace of the building he had been holding Lisbon in and creating an enormous crater in the desert. Rigsby, Cho, Van Pelt, and Jane had managed to escape the blast zone, but the massive shock wave quickly caught up with the cars and sent them flying and tumbling across the ground.

By some miracle, both cars came to rest right side up, and neither of them were totaled. Rigsby, Cho, Van Pelt, and Jane all sat still for a minute, then gingerly got out of their cars and arranged in a line, looking back at where the wooden cabin had been in mild shock. All of them were breathing heavily.

"Is everyone alright?" asked Jane, leaning down in exhaustion and bracing himself up by grabbing his knees.

"Yeah," Van Pelt panted, glancing at him.

Rigsby mimicked Jane's position. "Anyone else wondering if Red John made it out in time?" he asked.

Jane looked at him. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"No vehicles passed us on our way here, and we didn't see or hear anything leave that place besides us," Cho said. "Red John couldn't have had time to get away from that."

"Why would he blow himself up, though?" asked Van Pelt.

"I think the point was to blow _us_ up," Jane said. "He promised Lisbon wouldn't come to harm after he left, at least not because of him. I think he waited until the ambulance was safely out of range, then detonated the place. Maybe if we'd stayed longer, he would have taken the time to get himself away."

"But how would he know when she was far enough away?" asked Van Pelt.

"He'd know," Jane said simply; he didn't feel like explaining what he'd seen of Red John's resourcefulness.

Suddenly, his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked the caller ID.

What he saw shocked him.

Lisbon.

After a moment, he realized that what he had received was actually a text message, not a phone call. He looked at the others.

"It's a text message," he told them. "From him."

He opened it and read it out loud.

"'That was fun. Thank you for playing.'" He looked up. "'RJ'."

"What?" asked Rigsby.

Jane put his phone back in his pocket, placed his hands on his hips, and tried to breathe deeply. Then, all at once, his stress, exhaustion, and newly-broken panic caught up with him, and he started laughing.

"Jane?" Van Pelt asked worriedly.

Jane just laughed harder, and it quickly became apparent that he was hysterical. Slowly, still laughing, he sank to the ground, until he was eagle-spread on his back on the hot sand, laughing his head off like a madman.

"Oh!" he howled. "Oh, it _figures_! It _so figures_! _Every time_! Hahahahaha!"

Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt were silent, unsure how to respond.

Eventually, Jane's laughing fit died down some.

"He's letting me know he's alive and well," Jane told them, explaining the text message. "Well, at least well enough to send a text message." He laughed a little more. "He's letting me know that he's still out there, and I still have nothing." He grinned, still hysterical. "Every time. No matter what I do, or how close he lets me get, when he's done, I'm always left back at square one."

For a moment, no one spoke.

"Well…" Rigsby said at last, "we should head back. Bertram's going to want to know what happened."

"Yeah," said Van Pelt. She turned to Jane. "Come on, get up," she said to him; "I'll drive you back."

Jane stood up obediently but said, "No, that's okay, I'll drive."

"Jane, you haven't slept well in three weeks," Van Pelt said firmly. "Get in back, get some rest, and I'll drive."

Jane, realizing he was too tired to argue, said nothing and climbed in back of his car. Van Pelt got in front and re-started the engine, Cho took control of the team's car, and the four of them drove back to HQ.

Red John's game was over.

~o~

Red John sped through the desert, smiling to himself. His hunting costume regulated his body temperature, so he wasn't hot despite the sweltering midday heat.

His Old Friend had gotten away, if only just in time. Oh, well. If he had died, Red John wouldn't have anything to do in his spare time anymore. _Besides,_ he thought to himself, _a dead man can't suffer…_ That was why he hadn't killed Jane years ago, after all.

_Without defeat, there is no victory,_ he thought, _…and vice versa._ He smiled with satisfaction. _If victory is unattainable, simply ensure that there can be no defeat._ This wasn't a triumph for His Old Friend, he knew - and, as such, it wasn't a loss for him.

But sweet Teresa…_I wonder how long it will be before I can kill again?_ Red John wondered to himself. _I gave my word, and despite all odds, she _is_ alive._

_Oh, well,_ he thought again, outracing the wind as he drove his ride - which, to his eternal shame, had been dubbed "The Nightrider" by his friends - across the sand. _Back to my life._


	5. To Be Continued

~The story continues~

~in~

~Bleeding Hearts~


End file.
